UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT   LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Redlands  University 


California  College  Library. 


Number  ______  j 

Case  .......  1J..  ...........................  Shelf.  ......  H. 

Date  of  Purchase  ............................................  19  0 

Donated  by 


SKETCHES 


THE    KEY.    RALPH    HOYT,    A.    M. 


FOUETH    EDITION,    ENLAHOED. 


NE  W-Y  ORK: 
C.    SHEPARD    &    CO.    PUBLISHERS, 

152    Fullon- Street. 
1  852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

RALPH  HOYT, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


PUDNEY  &  RUSSELL,  PRINTERS. 


TEUE    LIFE; 


A   REVERIE: 


IN     THREE     CANTOS. 


I. 

ON  dusky  wing  now  night  comes  gently  down ; 

Dissolves  the  landscape  in  a  vapory  gray ; 
The  monarch  hills  resign  their  sunset  crown, 

Slow  droop  the  eyelids  of  the  drowsy  day ; 
All  weary  life,  and  every  heart  oppressed, 

In  soothing  slumber  now  may  sink  to  rest : 
Save,  I  must  vigil  while  all  nature  sleeps ; 

Not  self-devoted,  but  ordained  to  be 
A  poor  way-farer  o'er  life's  rugged  steeps, 

Its  sternest  aspects  fated  still  to  see, 
To  taste  its  bitter  draughts  at  many  a  brim, 

And  chant  withal  earth's  earnest,  awful  hymn ! 


348682 


TRUE   LIFE. 

THOU  that  hast  tuned  my  reed,  if  tuned  it  be, 

If  this  high  prayer  to  such  low  dust  belong, 
Ineffable  Inspirer !  speak  to  me, 

That  I  sing  not  an  inharmonious  song. 
Speak  to  me,  trembling  in  thy  glory's  blaze, 

That  chanting  Life,  withal  I  chant  thy  praise. 
This  earth-strung  harp  but  teaches  me  to  weep, 

Furrows  my  aching  brow  before  its  time  ; 
0 !  give  me  now  the  lyre  that  I  shall  sweep 

Upon  the  hills  of  yon  celestial  clime  : 
God !  make  my  spirit  like  a  'surging  sea, 

Rolling  its  thundering  anthems  up  to  Thee ! 

Such  scope  I  covet — fitly  to  adore  ! 

Such  scope,  the  import  of  my  theme  to  scan ; 
Ocean  of  Life  !  no  swimmer  finds  a  shore ; 

Unfathomable  mystery  of  Man ! 
So  vast,  so  various,  whence,  or  whither,  all 

Shrouded  in  secrecy  as  with  a  pall ! 
Drea4  dissonance  of  earth !  each  life  a  note 

Swelling  the  mighty  uproar  tempest  high ; 
Harmonious  voices  few,  and  too  remote 

To  temper  the  wild  clamor  of  the  sky ; 
O  !  for  a  plunge  that  ocean  to  explore ! 

0 !  for  a  wins:  that  chaos  to  outsoar ! 


TRUE    LIFE 

Give  me  to  love  my  fellow,  and  in  love, 

If  with  none  other  grace,  to  chant  my  strain, 
Sweet  key-note  of  soft  cadences  above, 

Sole  star  of  solace  in  life's  night  of  pain, 
Chief  gem  of  eden,  fractured  in  that  fall 

That  ruined  two  fond  hearts,  and  tarnished  all ! 
Redeemer !  be  thy  kindly  spirit  mine ; 

That  pearl  of  paradise  to  me  restore, 
Pure,  fervent,  fearless,  lasting  love,  divine, 

Profound  as  ocean,  broad  as  sea  and  shore. 
.  While  Man  I  sing,  free,  subject,  and  supreme, 

0 !  for  a  soul  as  ample  as  the  theme ! 

.    *  • 

Sad  prelude  I  have  sung,  by.  Sorrow  led 

Along  the  mournful  shades  that  own  her  sway, 

Where,  by  a  stream  that  weeping  eyes  have  shed, 
Low  chanted  I  my  melancholy  lay, 

In  pensive  concord  with  the  sootheless  wail 
Of  sighing  wanderers  in  that  lonely  vale. 

Ah,  chide  not  those  whose  wo  is  hard  to  bear, 

. 
The  heart  must  hover  where  its  treasures  sleep, 

I  saw  the  great,  the  wise,  the  gifted  there, 
With  humbler  multitudes  compelled  to  weep ; 

No  penury,  no  wealth  commands  relief, 

No  serf,  no  sovereign  in  the  realms  of  grief ! 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Equality  of  wo  !  a  form  there  sate, 

With  regal  diadem  upon  his  brow, 
But  all  the  glory  of  imperial  state 

Could  not  console  that  aching  bosom  now ; 
Death  in  his  palace  a  dread  summons  spoke, 

And  the  stout  heart  of  the  proud  monarch  broke  ! 
Unheeding  such  high  presence,  the  bereaved 

Of  lowlier  name,  despondingly  around, 
In  silent  anguish,  or  sad  accents  grieved, 

Or  sternly  smiled  in  agony  profound ; 
So  equal  poor  humanity  appears 

In  the  humiliating  vale  of  tears  ! 

Stern  lesson ! — yet  much  profit  to  the  soul : 

Good  to  be  taught  the  nothingness  of  pride ; 
To  free  the  spirit  from  earth's  strong  control, 

And  on  the  sea  of  sorrow  heavenward  glide. 
Humility  !  the  burthened  heart's  release ; 

Who  enters  that  low  portal  findeth  peace. 
Not  fair  A vocals  deep  sequestered  dell 

Such  sweet  serenity  and  rest  bestows ; 
Nor  winding  Arno's  bowery  banks  can  tell 

The  weary  traveller  of  such  repose 
As  soothes  the  soul  in  that  dim  shadowy  glen, 

Where  mighty  monarchs  own  themselves  but  men. 


TEUE    LIFE. 

Hears  now  my  loitering  niuse  a  stern  demand ; 

Why  thus  so  long  these  dreary  shades  among  ? 
Sad  dirges  sighing  of  the  spirit-land ; 

Humanity's  grand  lyric  all  unsung. 
Arise,  and  with  heroic  strength  be  strong, 

And  chime  thy  numbers  in  a  worthier  song ! 
Vain  importunity,  and  counsel  vain ; 

Not  mine  to  follow  fancy's  airy  flight ; 
Earth's  faithful  annals  must  record  its  pain : 

Yet,  oft  the  sun  may  gild  the  storm  with  light ; 
And  hope,  that  makes  the  gloom  of  sorrow  glow, 

On  showering  tears  may  paint  life's  brightest  bow. 

As  some  poor  mariner  adrift  at  sea, 

When  ruthless  storms  have  driven  his  bark  a-wreck, 
Climbing  his  riven  mast  in  agony, 

The  sole  survivor  of  a  crowded  deck, 
Sees,  as  he  clambers  upward,  sad  and  slow, 

The  dark  horizon  widening  on  his  wo ; 
So,  as  I  climb  my  splintered  spar  of  life, 

The  dreary  desolation  still  expands  ; 
Float  by,  betokening  the  mighty  strife, 

Rude  fragments  from  all  ages  and  all  lands ; 
And  mournful  voices  answer  to  my  soul, 

As  far  along  the  roaring  surge  they  roll. 


TRUE   LIFE. 

Each  billow  wears  some  diadem  unclaimed, 

Or  sceptre  wrested  from  some  regal  hand  ; 
Brave  palaces,  and  castles,  all  unnamed, 

Yet  once  the  glory  of  some  mighty  land ; 
The  costliest  baubles  of  a  royal  dream, 

Gone  like  a  leaf  upon  a  rushing  stream. 
There,  rushing  headlong,  with  portentous  speed, 

With  faded  banners  and  strange  tokens  dight, 
Its  destiny  fulfilling  as  decreed, 

Its  crescent  waning  into  utter  night, 
Dismembered,  shrouded  in  a  rayless  gloom, 

The  Prophet's  empire  hurries  to  its  doom ! 

There,  gone  forever,  o'er  the  heaving  deep 

A  mighty  fabric  plunges  on  amain, 
Stern  warrior  ghosts  a  bootless  vigil  keep, 

In  sanguine  fields  o'er  ghastly  heaps  of  slain ; 
That  realm  where  wide  the  conqueror's  eagles  flew, 

Gone  with  the  battle-smoke  of  Waterloo  ! 
How  humbled  haughtiness,  how  calmed  all  rage  : 

Helmet,  and  lance,  and  shield,  and  brazen  mail, 
There  fill  for  chivalry  its  final  page, 

As  down  the  current  gloomily  they  sail, 
The  same  irrevocable  doom  to  read, 

With  Goth,  and  Roman,  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Mede ! 


TRUE   LIFE. 

Old  Nineveh,  of  great  Aturian  Phul, 

Ecbat'na,  Babylon,  and  Tyre  remote, 
Menuf,  and  Meroe,  that  in  the  dull 

Far-distant  verge  of  mythic  ages  float, 
Careering  still  upon  their  fated  way, 

And,  mote  by  mote,  still  crumbling  in  decay. 
Great  shrines  of  Phtha,  and  hundred-gated  walls, 

The  pillared  temples  where  old  bactrians  knelt, 
The  chiseled  marble  of  imperial  halls, 

Where  Pharoes,  Ptolemies,  and  Cesars  dwelt, 
Strong  fanes  of  luve  piled  to  meet  the  sky, 

Deep  in  the  dust  of  perished  empires  lie. 

There  swoops  in  awful  solitude  sublime, 

The  shattered  remnant  of  the  elder  world, 
Like  some  primeval  orb,  unknown  to  time, 

Through  the  wild  realm  of  chaos  helmless  hurled : 
On,  on,  forever !  rushing  o'er  the  wave, 

A  rebel  skeleton  denied  a  grave  ! 
Dark,  silent,  desolate,  an  outcast  globe 

Blasted  beneath  the  sin-abhorring  frown  ; 
Shorn  of  the  sunbeam,  and  the  verdant  robe, 

In  an  unbounded  deluge  still  to  drown ! 
Imponderable  ruin  !  can  it  be 

The  morning  stars  sang  sweetly  once,  for  thee  ! 


Dread  Shape !     In  terror  though  constrained  I  gaze, 

The  shadows  of  old  ages  roll  away  ; 
The  Past  is  present,  and  the  first  of  days 

Pours  brightly  down  its  new-created  ray ; 
Dim,  mystic  visions  aggregate  apace, 

And  primal  earth  stands  out  august  in  space ! 
How  wonderful !     JEHOVAH  deigned  to  will, 

And  this  Creation  with  obedient  awe 
Came  booming  forth  the  mandate  to  fulfil ; 

From  darkness,  glory  ;  from  disorder,  law. 
So  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  formed  for  love, 

It  might  allure  the  angels  from  above ! 

I  can  no  more  !     My  struggling  pulse  beats  high, 

Oppressive  thought  o'erwhelms  my  weary  sense, 
Absorbed  in  too  much  grief,  I  cannot  sigh, 

Nor  vent  the  agony  that,  too  intense 
To  flow  in  liquid  anguish,  doth  corrode, 

And  canker  where  it  hath  its  seared  abode. 
Then  hush,  my  lyre  ;  my  mournful  muse,  adieu ! 

Day  breaks  and  calls  me  to  its  toilsome  din ; 
Farewell  ye  mighty  visions !  but  for  you, 

Spirits  of  all  my  dead,  too  deep  within 
My  soul's  shut  sanctuary  ye  abide, 

To  be  submerged  in  life's  oblivious  tide. 


THE 


TRUE    LIFE; 


A   REVERIE. 


II. 

How  changeful  and  how  fleet  the  things  of  earth  : 

But  yester'  the  fair  season  of  sweet  flowers, 
Breathing  its  odorous  beauties  into  birth, 

With  jessamine  and  roses  twined  the  bowers  ; 
But  soon  that  time  of  bud  and  bloom  was  o'er, 

And  summer  glowed,  where  spring  had  smiled  before : 
Summer !  gay,  golden  summer !     Lo,  the  fields, 

Flushed  with  the  wealth  that  Industry  hath  won  ; 
Blithely  the  swain  his  sweeping  sickle  wields, 

And  binds  his  heavy  sheaves.     September's  sun 
Tinges  the  clusters  on  the  bending  bough, 

And  autumn  holds  a  brief  dominion  now. 


TRUE   LIFE. 

And  now  'tis  winter !  so  the  moments  roll 

That  wear  out  life  in  fanciful  disguise, 
And  shoAV  full  oft  a  winter  in  the  soul, 

Blight  on  its  blossoms,  gloom  upon  its  skies  ; 
The  cherished  buds  of  hope  unblown  depart, 

And  strew  their  leaves  all  withered  on  the  heart. 
Nor  Flora's  beauty,  nor  her  sweet  perfume, 

O'er  hills,  and  vales,  and  woodlands,  can  restore 
The  blighted  tree  of  Life  its  eden  bloom ; 

It  cannot  see  the  sun  it  saw  before, 
It  cannot  the  decaying  stem  renew, 

Dead,  in  the  wintry  garden  where  it  grew ! 

Serenest  spirit  of  the  hallowed  lyre, 

Sweet  soother  of  all  sorrow,  come  to  me  ; 
My  burdened  thought  with  utterance  inspire  : 

Sad  harp  of  mine,  thy  saddest  minstrelsie, 
I  here  would  fling  upon  the  chilling  wind, 

Chanting  unto  the  dead !     Ah,  how  we  bind 
The  memory  of  each  departed  joy 

Close  to  our  bleeding  bosoms,  till  we  feel 
The  past  our  only  good,  the  earth  a  toy 

With  all  its  present  charms.     O  let  me  steal 
From  the  mad  whirl  of  life,  and  pour  my  breath, 

My  heart,  my  soul,  upon  the  ear  of  death ! 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Long  years  have  sped  since  first  I  learned  to  sigh 

Upon  some  dear  Patroclus'  funeral  pyre ; 
Since  sorrow  found  a  channel  in  mine  eye, 

And  for  a  buried  brother,  sister,  sire, 
Gushed  out  in  bitter  torrents,  till  this  heart, 

Drained  to  its  depths,  no  more  can  feel  the  smart, 
That  still  unsoothed  hath  sole  dominion  there  ; 

The  busy  dream  of  life  but  paints  it  o'er 
With  evanescent  hues  as  brief  as  fair ; 

The  melancholy  groundwork,  as  before, 
Stands  out  unsoftened,  unrelieved  by  time, 

Drinks  up  my  spirit,  saps  my  early  prime. 

'Tis  midnight  now.     Upon  the  latest  guest, 

The  weary  door  hath  made  its  final  close, 
And  one  sweet  hour  of  deep,  oblivious  rest, 

Shall  yield  my  soul  luxurious  repose — 
My  soul,  o'erworn  on  life's  tumultuous  sea, 

And  sighing  for  that  stream  where  peacefully 
The  pillowed  mariners  unconscious  glide, 

Soothed  in  a  dreamless,  care-dispelling  sleep  : 
0  !  let  me  launch  upon  that  lethean  tide, 

Thought  shall  be  rocked  a-slumber,  and  a  deep, 
Deep  plunge  of  memory  beneath  its  wave 

Shall  leave  my  spirit  quiet  as  the  grave. 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Illusive  hope ;  as  soon  yon  gem  of  night, 

Soft  peering  through  my  casement  from  on  high, 
Shall  cease  its  vigilings  and  quench  its  light, 

Tired  of  its  toilsome  errands  up  the  sky ; 
While  none  but  He  who  lighted  up  its  ray, 

May  bid  that  little  twinkler  pass  away. 
Star  of  my  Life  !  etherial  mystic  flame, 

Kindled  in  heaven,  yet  deigned  to  me  on  earth, 
Know  thou  thy  destiny  is  e'en  the  same  : 

Burn  till  He  gives  thee  rest,  who  gave  thee  birth : 
From  thought  no  solitude  can  set  thee  free, 

The  world  shut  out,  shuts  in  thyself  to  thee. 

That  spark  aloft  at  midnight  brighter  glows, 

In  silence  gleams  in  its  sublimest  power ; 
So  thou,  my  soul,  while  grief  around  thee  throws 

Its  gloomy  curtain,  let  it  be  the  hour 
Thy  noblest  energies  to  freely  pour, 

Yet  not  to  shine, — but  from  the  earth  to  soar. 
For  what  is  earth,  that  spirit  e'er  should  dwell 

E'en  in  its  sweetest  eden  1     Let  this  dust 
Cling  to  its  fading  kindred, — it  is  well : 

The  soul  hath  riches  where  there  is  no  rust, 
Afar,  in  heaven,  a  paradisial  grot, 

Where  joy's  perfection  is,  and  sorrow  cometh  not. 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Now  let  me  call  up  from  the  misty  past, 

The  venerable  one  'twas  mine  to  love 
Till  manhood's  years  upon  my  brow  had  cast 

Their  boding  shadows  ; — he  is  now  above, 
Nor  would  I  bring  him  thence, — but  oh,  to  greet 

That  reverend  form  once  more,  how  sweet,  how  sweet. 
Father !  I  need  not  haunt  thy  resting  place, 

Nor  send  my  thoughts  to  seek  among  the  blest, 
Thy  care-worn  countenance  again  to  trace  : 

Here  lives  thy  image  in  this  burning  breast ! 
And  here  it  still  shall  glow,  nor  ever  fade, 

Till  low  beside  thee  thy  lone  child  is  laid. 

I  wot  again  a  flower  in  life's  bright  morn, 

The  solace,  and  the  hope,  and  ay,  the  pride 
Of  its  fond,  fostering  stem, — that  flower  was  torn 

By  a  rude  tempest  from  its  parent's  side : 
Where  are  its  beauties  now  ? — go  ask  the  tomb : 

That  rosy  child, — where  now  its  living  bloom  1 
I  trode  his  father's  hall,  and  used  to  hear 

His  little  step  light  tripping  in  its  glee, 
But  now  I  hear  it  not, — and  lo,  a  tear 

Springs  in  that  eye  so  gladsome  wont  to  be  : 
Death  hath  shed  mildew  on  its  dearest  joy, 

Borne  to  the  silent  world  that  prattling  boy. 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Yet  can  it  be  that  he  no  more  shall  come  1 

See,  here  are  all  his  pastime  toys  arranged 
As  though  this  moment  he  had  left  his  home, 

The  recreative  for  the  school-hour  changed. 
There  stands  his  kite  against  the  chamber  wall, 

There  hangs  his  garden  hat,  there  lies  his  ball, 
And  here,  with  scientific  skill  disposed, 

His  tiny  cabinet  is  ope  to  view ; 
Would  he  have  left  the  little  door  unclosed, 

Were  he  to  sojourn  a  long  year  or  two  1 
Ah !  now  upon  the  dusty  shelves  I  see 

The  sad  solution, — death — eternity ! 

And  where  is  Ida  1     Answer  ye  sweet  flowers 

Here  clustering  in  the  path  she  loved  to  tread ; 
Oft  from  her  hand  ye  drank  the  mimic  showers  ; 

Now  whither  hath  the  gentle  Ida  fled  1 
Fair  stream,  along  whose  margin  oft  she  strayed, 

Where  wanders  now  the  lovely,  lonely  maid  1 
The  lover's  bosom  heaves  the  frequent  sigh, 

The  hearts  of  dear  companions  inly  weep, 
The  varying  seasons  drearily  roll  by, 

Yet  Ida  seems  in  some  enchanted  sleep. 
Sweet  maiden,  why  so  long  in  slumber  bound1? 

Ah !  mark  yon  willow ! — Ask  the  turfy  ground ! 


' 


THE 


TRUE    LIFE; 


A    REVERIE. 


III. 

LIFE'S  germ  from  heaven,  though  on  earth  the  bloom, 

And  seems  the  flower  with  full  perfection  blest ; 
But  ah,  there's  poison  in  its  sweet  perfume, 

And  spots  appear  within  its  snowy  breast. 
How  could  I  weep  in  sootheless,  ceaseless  grief, 

That  life  so  soon  is  sere  and  yellow  leaf. 
Perfidious  heart ;  so  subtle,  so  debased  ; 

But  for  the  bitterness  in  it  that  springs, 
The  tearful  history  were  soon  erased, 

And  earth-born  man  would  soar  on  seraph  wings. 
Ah,  heart,  thou  need'st  the  re-creating  sway 

Of  Him  who  is  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way. 


S2>| 


TEUE    LIFE. 

I  see  the  awful  vision  of  all  time  ; 

All  life,  since  man  became  a  living  soul ; 
All  change,  since  woman  taught  him  love  ;  and  crime, 

And  death's  dark  wave  began  o'er  earth  to  roll : 
Stupendous  pomp  !  far  reaching  to  that  night 

Ere  stars  were  kindled,  or  the  sun  gave  light. 
Swayed  as  eternal  symphonies  impel, 

Chord  answering  chord,  mysterious  harps  I  hear, 
And  myriad  voices  still  the  anthem  swell, 

Pouring  grand  harmonies  from  sphere  to  sphere  •, 
Chanting  historic,  the  great  psalm  of  earth, 

Since  chaos  labored  with  its  mighty  birth. 

Man,  the  epitome  !     Still  chiefly  he 

The  mighty  argument  of  that  high  song ; 
Of  His  omnipotence  who  bade  him  be, 

Sublimest  miracle  of  all  the  throng 
That  at  his  mandate  from  the  nought  of  space 

Came  forth,  substantial  majesty  and  grace. 
Materiality,  and  essence,  each 

Its  full  perfection  in  his  form  to  find ; 
A  universe  articulate  in  his  speech ; 

All  spirit-greatness  imaged  in  his  mind. 
Harp  on  forever,  all  ye  bards  above  ; 

Man  still  your  theme,  and  man-creating  love ! 


TRUE   LIFE 

0  dream  of  time  ! — Yet  good  to  ponder  o'er 

The  strange  vicissitudes  of  this  low  sphere ; 
To  muse  how  swiftly  from  its  rock-bound  shore 

Life's  voyagers  set  sail  and  disappear : 
How  phantom-like  the  generations  pass, 

Confessing  as  they  fly,  all  flesh  is  grass. 
Hope  draws  the  outline,  let  the  honest  hand 

Of  truth  fill  up  the  picture,  till  we  see 
Life's  lights  and  shades  as  they  are  wont  to  stand, 

On  the  broad  canvass  of  reality. 
Reality,  yet  strangely  frail  as  fair, 

Substantial  landscape,  painted  on  the  air. 

Mysterious  ! — It  is  the  hallowed  time 

When  spirits  are  abroad ;  and,  while  I  gaze, 
My  buried  bosom  ones  assume  their  prime, 

And  greet  me  with  the  smiles  of  other  days ; 
And  whom  I  love  on  earth,  a  cherished  few, 

Press  with  the  visioned  dead  upon  my  view. 
From  guileless  infancy,  to  silvered  age, 

They  crowd  to  make  the  catalogue  complete, 
As  from  my  heart's  imperishable  page, 

Their  deep  engraven  names  my  thoughts  repeat : 
Be  these  my  pencil's  theme,  while  I  portray 

Life's  budding,  blooming,  bearing,  and  decay.    ' 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Come,  my  Letitia, — mine  by  that  strange  tie 

Which  makes  us  ever  love  the  artless  soul ; 
Now  let  me  look  into  that  lustrous  eye, 

And  trace  the  course  thy  coming  years  shall  roll  • 
Th'  original  for  life's  first  picture  be, 

The  early  stem  before  the  towering  tree. 
Ha !  there's  a  change  upon  that  tiny  cheek  : 

Smile  on !  not  I  thy  joy  would  ever  mar, 
Though  mournfully  it  makes  the  past  to  speak, 

And  sorrow's  heavy  step  recalls  afar :     * 
Smile  on,  and  claim  my  pencil's  brightest  hues, 

Life's  rainbow  tints,  to  look  upon,  and  lose. 

« 

Oh,  would  I  were,  my  cherub  child,  like  thee, 

So  newly  from  the  skies,  that  earth  hath  gained 
No  inlet  for  its  deep  impurity  : 

Oh,  would  I  were  like  thee,  so  soul-unstained ! 
Sweet  Innocence  !  my  thought,  my  hand  be  still ; 

The  holy  theme  demands  an  angel's  skill. 
Hope  of  thy  mother,  could  her  mandate  stay 

The  hours  that  bear  thee  from  a  sinless  heart, 
Full  amply  would  thy  lessened  pangs  repay 

The  love  that  dared  to  keep  thee  as  thou  art. 
But  time's  swift  tide  will  ne'er  forbear  to  flow, 

The  little  bark  must  on,  the  bud  must  blow. 


TRUE    LIFE. 

Companion  mine,  along  this  devious  page 

Let  me  a  tale  to.thee  discourse  awhile, 
May  haply  much  thy  curious  ear  engage, 

And  this  brief  hour  right  worthily  beguile  ; 
Yet,  as  the  chronicle  unfolds  to  view, 

Though  fancy's  record,  deem  the  burden  true. 
In  sooth,  my  soul  is  fain  to  seek  repose, 

And  Avould  to  thee  its  lore  of  years  impart ; 
The  meditative  gatherings  disclose, 

That  miser  memory  garners  in  the  heart ; 
A  tale  of  death,  pride,  passion,  riches,  fame, 

And  virtue  tried  in  love's  intensest  flame. 

In  a  sweet  vale  amid  a  desert  waste, 

There  dwelt  a  maiden  radiant  as  light ; 
As  a  pure  angel  delicate  and  chaste  ; 

No  lovelier  form  e'er  greeted  mortal  sight ; 
Nor  lived  she  but  to  bless,  and  wide  to  show 

The  living  joys  that  truth  and  love  bestow. 
At  every  fount  of  knowledge  drank  she  deep  ; 

Not  erudition's  sages  so  profound  ; 
Of  things  divine  could  scale  the  cloudy  steep, 

And  all  the  depths  of  faith  and  reason  sound ; 
Yet  ever  meek,  no  one  desire  she  knew, 

Save  still  to  be  all  heavenly  and  true. 


p 


'  ' 


TRUE   LIFE. 

These  peerless  charms  and  all-surpassing  grace, 

That  humble  vale  might  not  unknown  retain ; 
A  world  were  blest  to  look  upon  that  face, 

And  contemplate  a  heart  that  knew  no  stain. 
From  hill  to  hill  wide  flew  the  wondrous  tale, 

So  bright  a  gem  in  such  a  lowly  vale  ! 
Came  one  and  knelt  adoring  at  her.  shrine ; 

And,  sooth,  a  great  and  seemly  suitor  he ; 
Could  she  his  prayer  and  plighted  troth  decline  ? 

Ah,  who  can  know  a  maiden's  mind,  perdie ! 
Not  all  unmoved  his  suppliance  she  heard, 

Yet  gave  no  hope,  save  only  'hope  deferred.' 

Ah,  gentle  fair,  why  thus  my  suit  disdain, 

Cried  he,  reproachful,  with  oflended  pride : 
A  nobler  name  in  story  must  I  gain ; 

What  task  performed  shall  win  thee  for  my  bride "? 
Though  years  attest  my  studious  toil  for  thee, 

Yet  say  what  more  to  do ;  what  more  to  be. 
Then  she,  all-pitying,  raised  a  tearful  eye, 

And  owned  the  fond  emotion  of  her  breast, 
But  thoughtful,  drew  a  deep  deploring  sigh, 

And  a  strange,  startling  answer  thus  expressed ; 
0,  noble  youth,  though  earth's  best  gifts  are  shed 

Around  and  on  thee,  thou,  alas,  art  dead ! 


TRUE   LIFE. 

Yet  must  you  mourn,  ye  minstrels  of  the  sky ; 

Through  all  your  strains  still  sweeps  a  note  of  woe, 
As  myriad  hearts  were  breaking  in  one  sigh ; 

Now  in  profoundest  octaves  moaning  low ; 
Up  the  careering  scale  now  frantic  flies, 

Shrieks  its  sad  tale  in  heaven,  and  wailing  dies. 
Me  now  instruct,-  that  justly  I  discourse 

Those  joys  and  sorrows,  your  immortal  themes ; 
Reveal  of  each  the  annals  and  the  source ;  . 

And  as  I,  listening,  muse  along  the  streams, 
And  o'er  the  mountains,  all  my  thoughts  inspire 

Till  your  high  burden  thrill  my  lowly  lyre. 

'Tis  evening  now,  and  all  the  stars  again, 

Like  pensive  spirits,  look  lamenting  down ; 
A  sister  orb  woe-smitten !  and  a  stain, 

How  deep  and  lasting,  on  its  old  renown. 
What  envious  hand  so  impiously  could  dare, 

To  mar  so  mournfully  a  world  so  fair. 
Would  I  might  speak  to  them ;  my  soul  would  know 

From  those  high  witnesses,  so  pure  and  true, 
Whence  came,  and  why,  the  desolating  blow 

Could  leave  such  deserts  where  such  edens  grew ; 
Could  doom  to  perish  an  immortal  race, 

And  earth  itself  to  fail  and  have  no  place. 


si® 


TEUE    LIFE. 

Speak,  stars,  ye  nightly  mourners  ;  and  no  more 

In  mute  amazement  wait  the  coming  hour 
That  shall  earth's  wasted  excellence  restore, 

And  give  man  back  his  innocence  and  power, 
Too  long  your  silent  sorrow  ;  sootheless  grief 

May  quench  your  glory,  yet  bring  no  relief. 
Known  your  sad  secret ;  mark  the  fearful  word 

Rebellion !  traced  on  every  human  brow ; 
And  oft  in  scathing  tempests  hath  been  heard 

The  tale  that  moves  your  deep  compassion  now. 
0,  to  my  call,  ye  weeping  worlds,  reply ; 

Man  and  his  home  in  ruin !  tell  me  why  ! 

Great  Volume  of  the  Word ;  behold,  in  thee 

The  dark  enigma  is  resolved  and  clear ; 
But  lo,  the  eye  of  nature  cannot  see, 

And  ah,  the  ear  too  heavy,  cannot  hear. 
His  paradise  how  long  with  wo  o'erspread ; 

And  the  immortal  dweller,  outcast,  dead ! 
Dead ;  yet  infatuated  not  to  know 

Essential  vigor,  beauty,  truth,  and  love 
Fled  when  he  dealt  the  self-destroying  blow, 

And  lost  the  Life  that  cometh  from  above. 
0,  Word  Almighty,  the  dread  bondage  break ; 

Awake  the  sleeper,  bid  the  dead  awake ! 


^•W-*t«< 

TRUE  LIFE. 

As  starts  a  dreamer  when  some  hideous  shape 

The  slumbering  sense  with  sudden  terror  thrills ; 
So  he,  with  shuddering  soul,  would  fain  escape 

Back  to  the  refuge  of  his  native  hills. 
But  still  transfixed  he  stood,  in  mute  dismay, 

Till  all  like  some  dread  vision  passed  away. 
Again  ere  long  to  conscious  thought  returned, 

He  sighed  the  import  of  those  words  to  know ; 
Dead !  while  his  bosom  with  such  ardor  burned ; 

Love,  reason,  and  ambition  all  a-glow ; 
Yet  oh,  that  word,  with  such  dark  meaning  fraught ; 

And  that  sweet  spirit ;  could  they  be  for  nought  1 

The  maiden's  bower  again  he  trembling  sought, 

And  prayed  a  lover's  pure  impassioned  prayer ; 
0,  might  he  at  her  feet  the  truth  be  taught ; 

Or  would  she  but  vouchsafe  to  tell  him  where, 
Where  might  he  terminate  the  doubtful  strife  ; 

And  find,  if  he  were  dead,  the  soul's  true  life. 
O,  sweet  to  see  how  she  inclined  the  ear ; 

How  soon  disclosed  the  "  the  true  and  living  way  ;*' 
And  ah,  how  brake  his  heart  the  brimming  tear 

That  bade  him  never  from  her  love  to  stray, 
As  forth,  elate,  with  hastening  step  she  trode, 

And  showed  a  temple — Truth's  august  abode. 


TRUE   LIPK 

Now,  onward  thou,  she  cried,  the  mountain  climb, 

And  press  for  yonder  porch  with  steadfast  heart ; 
There  enter,  and  the  wisdom  of  old-time 

Its  prophet-voices  shall  to  thee  impart ; 
Obey,  and  lo,  thou  shalt  to  life  arise, 

And  this,  my  long-sought  hand  shall  be  thy  prize. 
Then  thitherward  a  wistful  look  he  cast, 

Bending  his  step  within  a  narrow  way ; 
And  on  his  joyous  pilgrimage  he  passed, 

Still  wending  onward  all  the  weary  day, 
Till  at  the  portal  pausing,  lowly  there 

He  knelt  and  breathed  a  penitential  prayer. 

0,  Fount  of  Life !  in  thy  blest  courts  how  free 

The  sacramental  stream  all-cleansing  flows, 
When  the  benighted  wanderer  bends  the  knee, 

And  o'er  his  head  the  mystic  waters  close. 
Baptismal  Jordan !  and  the  Spirit-Dove ! 

Life,  Reconciliation,  Peace,  and  Love ! 
So  knew  the  pilgrim  as  the  ghostly  shower 

From  holy  hands  descended  on  his  head. 
Regenerated !     By  redeeming  power 

Awaked  from  sleep ;  arisen  from  the  dead ! 
How  flashed  the  light !  What  rapture  thrilled  the  youth ; 

There,  and  forever  his,  were  LIFE  and  TRUTH. 


JULIA, 


WHERE  rural  Chester  spreads  in  hill  and  plain, 
And  rippling  Bronx  pursues  its  peaceful  way, 

Just  as  you  turn  within  a  winding  lane, 
Skirting  the  border  of  a  little  bay, 

There  stands  a  cottage  ivied-o'er  and  gray. 

The  home  of  JULIA'S  joyous  spring  of  life  ; 

Ere  the  sweet  blossom  ripened  into  love, 
Ere  she  had  known  the  autumn  of  its  strife, 

The  cold  rude  blasts  that  pierce  the  gentle  Dove, 
And  warn  its  wing  to  calmer  climes  above. 


Alas,  there  came  a  change  upon  her  heart, 
A  hopeless  sorrow  like  an  April  blight : 

For  other  lands  she  saw  her  swain  depart ; 
And  swift  departed  then  each  gay  delight, 

Spring  became  Winter, — Morning  turned  to  night ! 


JULIA. 

Still  climbed  the  wood-bine  by  the  cottage  door, 
Still  sang  the  robin  sweetly  to  his  mate, 

Still  strove  parental  fondness  as  before, 

But  JULIA'S  grief  still  knew  but  one  dark  date, 

And  flower  and  song  and  love  came  all  too  late. 


It  was  OCTOBER, — sadly  wailed  the  breeze, 
As  o'er  the  hill  and  through  the  wood  it  sped  ; 

The  fruit  was  gathered  from  the  sapless  trees, 
A  frosty  veil  the  meadows  overspread, 

And  all  the  groves  were  withering  or  dead. 


The  harvest  fields  of  all  their  treasures  shorn 
Betrayed  again  the  rude  unseemly  ground  ; 

Where  grew  the  bending  wheat,  the  towering  corn, 
But  stubble  now,  and  leafless  stalks  were  found, 

Furrow,  and  ridge,  the  fading  landscape  round. 

Fair  CHESTER  seemed  like  some  desponding  maid, 
The  scene  so  sad  beneath  the  autumn  sky  ; 

Her  summer  sun  to  rival  climates  strayed, 
Her  dewy  pearls  ungathered  left  to  lie, 

And  limpid  Bronx  in  grief  to  murmur  by. 


JULIA. 

(Ah,  gentle  stream,  glide  on  in  ceaseless  wo, 
While  by  thy  margin  sleeps  thy  plaintive  bard, 

Sweet  minstrel  Drake  !     Ye  autumn  winds  sing  low  ! 
Ye  seasons  all,  leave  that  green  slope  unmarred 

Where  von  lone  willows  his  dear  ashes  guard.) 

There  came  a  stranger  to  the  gate  one  eve, 
And  craved  in  gentle  words  to  be  a  guest ; 

Might  that  sweet  cot  his  weariness  relieve, 
Now  day  so  far  was  drooping  down  the  west ; 

A  pilgrim's  blessing  on  the  roof  should  rest. 


All  welcome  ever  to  that  kindly  hearth  ; 

None  sought  its  plenty  or  its  peace  in  vain ; 
Though  pensive  JULIA  knew  no  more  of  mirth, 

Yet  none  abiding  there  might  know  her  pain, 
Did  in  her  heart  such  holy  calmness  reign. 


Came  hastening  on  the  chill  autumnal  night, 
With  rustic  pastime  and  its  guiltless  glee, 

The  floor  was  stainless,  and  the  fire  was  bright, 
The  nuts  were  cracking  upon  every  knee, 

And  new-made  cider  flowed  most  sweet  and  free. 


JULIA. 

High  rose  the  mirth  as  from  the  embers  flew 
The  roasting  chesnut  with  a  sudden  start, 

For  blushing  John,  or  Jane,  an  omen  true 
Of  love's  sly  passion  glowing  in  the  heart, 

And  Hymen's  speedy  aid  with  his  sweet  art. 

The  stranger's  heart  was  moved  by  JULIA'S  grace, 
And  oft  he  gazed,  as  bound  by  beauty's  spell, 

Upon  her  faultless  form  and  winning  face, 
And  as  he  felt  the  pure  emotion  swell 

He  longed  the  secret  of  his  love  to  tell. 

Nor  he  unworthy  such  a  maid  to  win  ; 

Of  noble  aspect,  manly,  yet  serene  ; 
No  foul  deceiver,  stained  with  reckless  sin  ; 

In  sportive  group  upon  the  village  green, 
He  were  a  goodly  king,  and  she  a  queen. 


With  gentle  accents  soon,  and  whispering  low, 

Besought  he  JULIA  for  a  hopeful  smile  ; 
But  ah,  his  suit  still  added  to  her  wo — 

Her  mournful  thoughts  were  far  away  the  while, 
And  loving  words  might  not  her  heart  beguile. 

; 


JULIA. 

Ah  !   stranger  said  she  sweetly,  one  I  knew 

Who  wooed  and  won  this  simple  heart  of  mine, 

And  to  his  image  still  it  must  be  true, 

Though  weary  seasons  it  may  yet  repine, 

Till  life's  last  sun  of  hope  in  death  decline. 


'Twas  autumn  e'en  as  now  when  last  we  met, 

And  seven  long  years  their  dreary  course  have  run, 

Since  here  we  plighted,  never  to  forget ; 
That  holy  pledge  I  may  recal  for  none  ; 

One  shares  my  silent  love, — and  only  one. 

I  still  remember  how  we  used  to  rove, 

Young  and  light-hearted  in  the  frosty  Fall, 

Far  in  the  lonely  depths  of  nut-wood  grove, 

List'ning  the  squirrel's  chirp,  the  cat-bird's,  call, 

Hid  from  the  world,  and  happier  than  all. 


How  through  the  rustling  leaves  we  loved  to  walk, 
Our  ample  baskets  bountifully  stored, 

As  hand  in  hand  we  held  our  cheerful  talk, 
And  still  each  nook  for  hidden  nuts  explored 

Proud  to  bear  home  an  unexampled  hoard 


JULIA. 

Oft  through  the  bending  orchard  have  I  prest, 
Among  the  fruits  in  rich  abundance  there, 

To  cull  for  him  the  ripest  and  the  best, 
The  evening  pastime  early  to  prepare, 

Undreaming  then  that  love  is  linked  with  care  ! 

When  in  the  barn  the  laborers  and  he 

Threshed  out  the  treasures  of  the  ripened  sheaf, 
How  sweet  the  music  of  his  flail  to  me  ! 

But  all  is  over, — save  my  helpless  grief, 
And  life  to  me  is  now  an  autumn  leaf! 

Oh  stranger,  there  be  fairer  maids  than  I 

Would  proudly  welcome  such  a  proffered  hand ; 

Your  lordly  wealth  a  paradise  may  buy, 
But  vain  for  me  the  glittering,  or  grand  ; 

My  sootheless  heart  is  in  another  land. 


Said  then  the  traveler,  I  knew  full  well 
Your  wandering  Youth  in  Oriental  climes  ; 

Oft  have  I  heard  him  of  sweet  Chester  tell, 
Repeat  its  tales,  rehearse  its  rustic  rhymes, 

And  talk  of  all  its  pleasant  autumn  times. 


JULIA. 

The  ardent  skies  where  he  has  sojourned  long, 
Have  tinged  his  visage  with  the  Indian  hue  ; 

His  youthful  limbs  have  stalwart  grown  and  strong ; 
And  scarce  his  voice  might  now  be  known  to  you  ; 

Yet  beats  his  heart  unalterably  true  ! 

How  cruel  was  the  storm  that  wrecked  his  bark, 
And  drove  him  helmless  o'er  the  raging  wave  ; 

Above,  below,  and  all  around  him  dark, 

No  voice  to  soothe  him,  and  no  hand  to  save, 

No  hope,  no  refuge  but  a  billowy  grave, 

And  when  the  rescue  came,  and  bore  him  far 
Through  widening  seas  to  India's  distant  shore, 

How  sank  in  gloom  his  bosom's  love-lit  star, 
How  seemed  the  visions  of  his  home  all  o'er, 

Without  a  promise  he  should  see  it  more. 

But  still  he  lives  ! — and  in  his  dreams  of  bliss 
His  faithful  Julia  all  his  ardor  claims  ; 

Oft  has  he  longed  for  such  an  hour  as  this, 
Oft  in  his  prayer  his  cherished  one  he  names  ; 

Dear  angel ! — I  am  he,—  your  long  lost  Jarnes  ! 


JULIA. 

As  sudden  sunshine  gilds  a  murky  sky, 

Or  moonbeams  tip  the  raven  wings  of  night, 

That  happy  word  illumined  Julia's  eye, 

Made  all  the  clouds  of  her  dark  sorrow  bright, 

And  filled  the  cottage  with  a  -new  delight. 

The  glowing  hearth  grew  warmer  than  before, 
The  baking  apples  tumbled  to  and  fro, 

The  singing  kettle  instant  spouted  o'er, 
Kate  could  no  longer  spin,  nor  Sally  sew, 

And  e'en  the  wind  seemed  gladsomely  to  blow  ! 

Joined  all  the  household  in  a  loving  din  ; 

Fantastic  shadows  danced  upon  the  wall, 
Such  clasping,  kissing,  gliding  out  and  in  ! 

Such  leaping,  laughing,  talking,  one  and  all, 
It  might  be  deemed  a  romping  rustic  Ball ! 

Still  rural  Chester  spreads  in  hill  and  plain, 
Still  murmurs  rippling  Bronx  its  autumn  lay, 

Still  stands  a  ruin  in  that  winding  lane, 
Skirting  the  border  of  a  little  bay, — 

But  all  the  dwellers  there  have  passed  away  ! 


EDWARD  BELL. 


A    RURAL    SKETCH    OF    MAY, 


ONE  bright  May  morning  there  were  children  playing 

By  a  brook ; 
There  was  no  care  upon  their  young  hearts  weighing ; 

No  sad  look : 
The  forests,  fields,  and  flowers  were  green  and  gay, 

That  morn  in  May. 

And  they  were  six,  those  children,  sweetly  mated 

Two  and  two ; 
Three  urchins  and  three  maidens,  and  they  prated 

As  such  do : 
They  prattled,  played,  and  helped  the  birds  to  sing 

The  rosy  Spring ! 


EDWARD   BELL. 

Full  simple  and  all  artless  was  the  story 

That  each  told ; 
But  truth  and  innocence  have  still  a  glory 

As  of  old ; 
And  rudest  childhood  may  inspire  a  page 

For  wisest  age. 

Oh  life !  why  are  thy  early  joys  forsaken ! 

Why  should  time 
Lull  innocence  to  slumber,  and  awaken 

Pride  and  crime ! 
Oh  years,  oh  change,  how  swift  ye  bear  away 

Life's  sinless  May ! 

They  were  not  whispering  the  shame  of  others : 

Nor  would  fling 
The  brand  of  enmity  among  earth's  brothers : 

Nor  the  sting 
Of  jealous  rivalry  did  they  endure, — 

For  they  were  pure ! 

They  loved  each  other,  and  they  loved  the  flowers, 

Streams  and  trees, 
The  vine  slow  creeping  o'er  the  latticed  bowers, 

Buzzing  bees, 
The  mossy  cottage,  and  the  old  stone  wall, — 

They  loved  them  all. 


feacramento  Street,  \ 


EDWARD    BELL. 

The  fragrant  cluster  of  wild  roses  glowing 

In  the  dell, 
Pink,  woodbine,  lilach,  and  sweet-briar  blowing 

By  the  well, 
With  holly-hock,  like  soldiery  around, 

Guarding  the  ground. 

Oh,  could  the  sordid  ones  of  earth  have  listened 

Each  sweet  word — 
The  heart  had  softened  and  the  eye  had  glistened 

While  they  heard  : 
Such  guileless  love,  such  gentleness  were  there, — 

Alas,  so  rare ! 

MAY  !  o'er  the  distant  wood  the  crow  is  swelling 

His  wild  cry ; 
To  pilfering  broods  in  sprouting  cornfields  telling 

Danger  nigh ! 
Just  as  the  ambushed  farmer  to  the  sun 

Betrays  his  gun. 

Loud  chants  the  brook,  some  lovelorn  myth  repeating ; 

Shouts  each  boy ; 
E'en  drifting  leaves,  in  little  eddies  meeting, 

Dance  for  joy ; 
The  odorous  air,  the  sky,  the  sun's  warm  ray 

All  make  it  MAY  ! 


EDWARD    BELL. 

But  there  were  two  among  the  group  that  season, 

EDWARD  BELL, 
And  one  whose  name  the  muse  with  mournful  reason, 

Shrinks  to  tell — 
An  angel  girl — the  eldest  that  was  there, 

And  passing  fair. 

They  sat  together  where  the  trees  o'ershaded, 

And  they  walked 
Along  the  margin  of  the  stream,  or  waded, 

Sang  and  talked, 
And  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  to  say — 

Oh,  sweet,  sweet — May ! 

And  they  discoursed  of  all  the  rural  pleasures 

Spring  imparts  ; 
Field,  garden,  grove, — how  full  of  truest  treasures 

For  true  hearts ! 
The  sweet  vicissitude — the  toil — the  rest, 

Supremely  blest ! 

How  painted  he  the  picture  of  the  morning 

From  the  dawn : 
The  cock's  shrill  trumpet  earliest  in  warning ; 

The  green  lawn, 

0 

The  rising  mist,  the  far  receding  night, 
The  orient  light ! 


EDWARD    BELL. 

The  dewy  glitter  as  the  sun  came  peeping 

O'er  the  hill ; 
The  lonely  willow,  where  the  loved  were  sleeping, 

Weeping  still ; 
The  skylark  mounting  with  his  matin  lay 

To  meet  the  day. 

The  drowsy  plough-boy  to  the  meadow  wending 

For  the  team, 
The  barnyard  choir  their  rueful  concert  blending 

With  his  dream ; 
The  laden  cows  slow  gathering  before 

The  dairy  door. 

The  creaking  bars  that  John  lets  down  for  Sophy 

With  her  pails ; 
The  hasty  kiss  he  seizes  as  a  trophy 

O'er  the  rails ; 
The  patient  oxen  yoked  and  ready  now 

To  speed  the  plough. 

The  grumbling  mill-wheel  indolently  starting, 

And  the  corn 
In  rustic  wagons  coming  and  departing  ; 

The  far  horn 
Calling  to  the  repast  some  swain  remote, 

With  welcome  note 


EDWARD   BELL. 

The  curling  smoke  some  distant  cot  denoting 

'Mid  the  trees : 
The  low  bright  clouds  along  the  azure  floating; 

The  soft  breeze, 
Where  blooming  orchards  their  sweet  odors  fling ; 

The  Spring, — the  Spring ! 

So  penciled  he,  that  youth,  with  raptured  feeling, 

Yet  serene, 
The  guileless  fountain  of  his  heart  revealing, 

That  fair  scene : 
And  she,  elate,  delight  in  each  blue  eye, 

Made  sweet  reply. 

'Twas  her's  to  paint  the  dear  domestic  heaven 

That  she  knew : 
The  tranquil  joys,  from  early  morn  till  even, 

Pure  and  true ; 
The  peace  that  seeks  more  oft  the  cottage  gate 

Than  courtly  state. 

How  eloquent  to  her  each  simple  token 

Of  the  time, 
The  day's  approach, — the  chains  of  slumber  broken, 

The  sweet  chime 
Of  songsters  warbling  from  the  budding  spray — 

Hail,  flowery  MAY  ! 


The  cool  ablution  at  the  dripping  fountain, 

By  the  bower ; 
(A  crystal  treasure  newly  from  the  mountain, 

Since  the  shower,) 
The  woodman's  lay  soft  echoing  on  the  ear, 

Oh,  sweet  to  hear ! 

The  strain  now  near, — and  faintly  now  receding 

On  the  air ; 
Now  heard, — now  hushed  again,  some  breeze  impeding, 

Yet  seems  there, — 
The  lingering  cadence  haunting  all  the  skv, 

.  o  o  o  */  * 

Too  pure  to  die ! 

But  yonder  whistling  teamster  home  returning 

O'er  the  farm, 
Slow  wheeling  up  his  load  of  brush  for  burning, 

Breaks  the  charm ; 
The  crackling  branches,  and  the  axe'  sharp  fall 

Out-echoing  all ! 

And  now  the  blazing  hearth,  fair  Jane  preparing 

Her  rich  store : 
The  idle  dog  the  clamorous  poultry  scaring 

From  the  door : 
The  frisking  colt,  the  two  pet  lambs  at  play ; 

'Tis  May,— 'tis  May! 


EDWARD    BELL. 


So  mused  that  gentle  pair,  the  time  beguiling, 

That  bright  day ; 
Dreamed  not  the  joyous  group,  that  hours  so  smiling 

Pass  away! 
They  prattled,  played,  and  helped  the  birds  to  sing, 

The  rosy  Spring ! 

Ah,  brook  and  flowery  bank  how  soon  forsaken ! 

Ah,  that  time 
Should  lull  our  truth  to  slumber,  and  awaken 

Pride  and  crime ! 
Oh  years,  oh  change,  how  swift  ye  bear  away 

Youth's  happy  May ! 

One  morn  again  a  poor  old  man  was  straying 

By  the  brook : 
Sore  seemed  the  sorrow  on  his  bent  form  weighing, 

Sad  his  look : 
For  him  nor  field  nor  flowers  were  green,  or  gay, 

Though  it  was  May. 

He  gazed  as  dreaming  of  some  brighter  morning, 

Ere  his  wo : 
He  missed  the  fairest  flower  that  bank  adorning, 

Long  ago ! 
Five  turfy  mounds  were  there — there  dead  he  fell ! 

'Twas  EDWARD  BELL  ! 


SIOW, 


A    WINTER    SKETCH. 


THE  blessed  morn  has  come  again ; 

The  early  gray 
Taps  at  the  slumberer's  window  pane, 

And  seems  to  say 
Break,  break  from  the  enchanter's  chain, 

Away,  away! 

'Tis  Winter,  yet  there  is  no  sound 

Along  the  air, 
Of  winds  upon  their  battle-ground, 

But  gently  there, 
The  snow  is  falling, — all  around 

How  fair — how  fair ! 


SNOW. 

The  jocund  fields  would  masquerade ; 

Fantastic  scene ! 
Tree,  shrub,  and  lawn,  and  lonely  glade 

Have  cast  their  green, 
And  joined  the  revel,  all  arrayed 

So  white  and  clean. 

E'en  the  old  posts,  that  hold  the  bars 

And  the  old  gate, 
Forgetful  of  their  wintry  wars 

And  age  sedate, 
High  capped,  and  plumed,  like  white  hussars, 

Stand  there  in  state. 

The  drifts  are  hanging  by  the  sill, 

The  eaves,  the  door ; 
The  hay-stack  has  become  a  hill ; 

All  covered  o'er 
The  wagon,  loaded  for  the  mill 

The  eve  before. 

Maria  brings  the  water-pan, 

But  where's  the  Well! 
Like  magic  of  a  fairy  tale, 

Most  strange  to  tell, 
All  vanished,  curb,  and  crank,  and  rail ! 

How  deep  it  fell ! 


SNOW. 

The  wood-pile  too  is  playing  hide ; 

The  axe,  the  log, 
The  kennel  of  that  friend  so  tried, 

(The  old  watch-dog,) 
The  grindstone  standing  by  its  side, 

All  now  incog. 

The  bustling  cock  looks  out  aghast 

From  his  high  shed ; 
No  spot  to  scratch  him  a  repast 

Up  curves  his  head, 
Starts  the  dull  hamlet  with  a  blast, 

And  back  to  bed. 

Old  drowsy  dobbin,  at  the  call, 

Amazed,  awakes ; 
Out  from  the  window  of  his  stall 

A  view  he  takes, 
While  thick  and  faster  seem  to  fall 

The  silent  flakes. 

The  barn-yard  gentry,  musing,  chime 

Their  morning  moan ; 
Like  Memnon's  music  of  old  time 

That  voice  of  stone ! 
So  marbled  they — and  so  sublime 

Their  solemn  tone. 


1  .  SNOW. 

Good  Ruth  has  called  the  younker  folk 

To  dress  below ; 
Full  welcome  was  the  word  she  spoke, 

Down,  down  they  go, 
The  cottage  quietude  is  broke, — 

The  snow ! — the  snow ! 

Now  rises  from  around  the  fire 

A  pleasant  strain ; 
Ye  giddy  sons  of  mirth,  retire ! 

And  ye  profane ! 
A  hymn  to  the  Eternal  Sire 

Goes  up  again. 

The  patriarchal  Book  divine, 

Upon  the  knee, 
Opes  where  the  gems  of  Judah  shine, 

(Sweet  minstrelsie !) 
How  soars  each  heart  with  each  fair  line, 

Oh  God,  to  Thee  ! 

Around  the  altar  low  they  bend, 

Devout  in  prayer ; 
As  snows  upon  the  roof  descend, 

So  angels  there 
Come  down  that  household  to  defend 

With  gentle  care. 


SNOW. 

Now  sings  the  kettle  o'er  the  blaze ; 

The  buckwheat  heaps ; 
Rare  Mocha,  worth  an  Arab's  praise, 

Sweet  Susan  steeps ; 
The  old  round  stand  her  nod  obeys, 

And  out  it  leaps. 

Unerring  presages  declare 

The  banquet  near ; 
Soon,  busy  appetites  are  there ; 

And  disappear 
The  glories  of  the  ample  fare, 

With  thanks  sincere. 

Now  tiny  snow-birds  venture  nigh 

From  copse  and  spray, 
(Sweet  strangers  !  with  the  winter's  sky 

To  pass  away ;) 
And  gather  crumbs  in  full  supply, 

For  all  the  day. 

Let  now  the  busy  hours  begin  : 

Out  rolls  the  churn ; 
Forth  hastes  the  farm-boy,  and  brings  in 

The  brush  to  burn ; 
Sweep,  shovel,  scour,  sew,  knit,  and  spin, 

'Till  night's  return. 


. 


SNOW. 

To  delve  his  threshing  John  must  hie ; 

His  sturdy  shoe 
Can  all  the  subtle  damp  defy ; 

How  wades  he  through ! 
While  dainty  milkmaids,  slow  and  shy, 

His  track  pursue. 

Each  to  the  hour's  allotted  care ; 

To  shell  the  corn ; 
The  broken  harness  to  repair ; 

The  sleigh  t'  adorn ; 
As  cheerful,  tranquil,  frosty,  fair, 

Speeds  on  the  morn ; 

While  mounts  the  eddying  smoke  amain 

From  many  a  hearth, 
And  all  the  landscape  rings  again 

With  rustic  mirth ; 
So  gladsome  seems  to  every  swain 

The  SNOWY  earth. 


P//3 


|     TO  MARY; 

A    WINTER    RETROSPECT. 

WHEN  lately,  fair  cousin,  you  sued  for  a  dozen 

Brief  lines  in  a  song  or  a  sonnet, 
Though  little  you  knew  it,  I  trembled  to  do  it, 

For  thoughts  of  our  youth  came  upon  it ; 
A  sad  retrospection  of  early  affection ; 

The  joys  of  our  infancy's  morning ; 
Of  many  warm  hearted  now  cold  or  departed ; 

Dark  changes  that  came  without  warning. 

When  over  the  heather  we  journeyed  together, 

Or  roved  in  the  meadow,  beguiling 
Our  holiday  hours  in  gathering  flowers, 

While  the  bright  summer  skies  were  smiling, 
As  sister  and  brother  were  we  to  each  other ; 

As  lovers  whom  nought  could  dissever, 
Nor  knew  that  that  feeling  was  rapidly  stealing 

Awav  like  a  meteor  forever. 


TO   MARY. 

And  while  we  remember,  as  frosty  December 

Comes  bristling  along  in  his  ire, 
How  cheated  the  season  so  out  of  all  reason, 

Our  glee  by  the  crackling  fire ; 
"Pis  mournfully  pleasant  to  look  from  the  present 

Far  back  on  those  days  of  gladness, 
But  none  can  restore  them,  dark  shadows  are  o'er  thwn, 

And  memory  sinks  in  sadness. 

Yet  what  is  life's  trouble  ;  a  fable,  a  bubble, 

Unreal,  or  soon  to  vanish ; 
A  cloud  on  a  mountain,  the  mist  o'er  a  fountain, 

Which  the  first  beam  of  morn  will  banish. 
There  cometh  an  hour  of  balmiest  pow^r. 

When  gloom  shall  afar  be  driven, 
And  when  we  shall  fleetly,  yet  calmly  and  sweetly 

Go  up  to  our  rest  in  heaven. 

The  years  in  their  rolling  thus  whisper  consoling ; 

And  deep  though  they  leave  their  traces, 
Disrobing  the  roses  where  beauty  reposes, 

While  furrows  of  care  take  their  places, 
Though  thus  they  pursue  us,  they  shall  not  subdue  us, 

But  when  through  our  course  we  have  wended, 
Life's  stormiest  billow  will  seem  a  sweet  pillow, 

And  all  in  love's  ocean  be  ended. 


THE 


¥ORLD-SALE, 


A    MORAL    SKETCH. 


THERE  wandered  from  some  mystic  sphere, 

A  Youth,  celestial,  down  to  earth ; 
So  strangely  fair  seemed  all  things  here, 

He  e'en  would  crave  a  mortal  birth : 
And  soon,  a  rosy  boy,  he  woke, 

A  dweller  in  some  stately  dome ; 
Soft  sunbeams  on  his  vision  broke, 

And  this  low  world  became  his  home. 


WORLD-SALE. 

Ah,  cheated  child !   Could  he  but  know 

Sad  soul  of  mine,  what  thou  and  I ! 
The  bud  would  never  wish  to  blow, 

The  nestling  never  long  to  fly  ; 
Perfuming  the  regardless  air, 

High  soaring  into  empty  space ; 
A  blossom  ripening  to  despair, 

A  flight — without  a  resting  place ! 

How  bright  to  him  life's  opening  morn ! 

No  cloud  to  intercept  a  ray ; 
The  rose  had  then  no  hidden  thorn, 

The  tree  of  life  knew  no  decay. 
How  greeted  oft  his  wondering  soul 

The  fairy  shapes  of  childish  joy, 
As  gaily  on  the  moments  stole 

And  still  grew  up  the  blooming  boy. 

How  gently  played  the  odorous  air 

Among  his  wavy  locks  of  gold, 
His  eye  how  bright,  his  cheek  how  fair, 

As  still  youth's  summer  days  were  told. 
Seemed  each  succeeding  hour  to  tell 

Of  some  more  rare  unfolding  grace ; 
Some  swifter  breeze  his  sail  to  swell, 

And  press  the  voyager  apace ! 


WORLD-SALE. 

He  roved  a  swain  of  some  sweel  vale, 

Or  climbed,  a  daring  mountaineer ; 
And  oft,  upon  the  passing  gale, 

His  merry  song  we  used  to  hear ; 
Might  none  e'er  mount  a  fleeter  steed, 

His  glittering  chariot  none  outvie, 
Or  village  mart,  or  rural  mead, 

The  hero  he  of  heart  and  eye. 


Anon  a  wishful  glance  he  cast 

Where  storied  thrones  their  empire  hold, 
And  soon  beyond  the  billowy  Vast 

He  leaped  upon  the  shores  of  old ! 
He  sojourned  long  in  classic  halls, 

At  learning's  feast  a  favored  guest. 
And  oft  within  imperial  walls, 

He  tasted  all  delights,  save — rest ! 

It  was  a  restless  soul  he  bore, 

And  all  unquenchable  its  fire ; 
Nor  banquet,  pomp,  nor  golden  store, 

Could  e'er  appease  its  high  desire. 
And  yet  would  he  the  phantom  band 

So  oft  deceiving  still  pursue, 
Delicious  sweets  in  every  land, 

But  ah,  not  lasting,  pure  or  true ! 


WORLD-SALE. 

He  knelt  at  many  a  gorgeous  shrine ; 

Reclined  in  love's  voluptuous  bowers ; 
Yet  did  his  weary  soul  repine, 

Were  listless  still  the  lingering  hours, 
Then  sped  an  argosie  to  bear 

The  sated  truant  to  his  home, 
But  sorrow's  sombre  cloud  was  there, 

'Twas  dark  in  all  that  stately  dome. 

Was  rent  at  last  life's  fair  disguise, 

And  that  Immortal  taught  to  know 
He  had  been  wandering  from  the  skies, 

Alas,  how  long — alas,  how  low ! 
Deluded, — but  the  dream  was  done ; 

A  conqueror, — but  his  banner  furled ; 
The  race  was  over, — he  had  won, — 

But  found  his  prize — a  worthless  World ! 

Oh  Earth,  he  sighed,  and  gazed  afar, 

How  thou  encumberest  my  wing ! 
My  home  is  yonder  radiant  star, 

But  thither  thee  I  cannot  bring. 
How  have  I  tried  thee  long  and  well, 

But  never  found  thy  joys  sincere, 
Now,  now  my  soul  resolves  to  sell 

Thy  treasures  strewn  around  me  here ! 


WORLD-SALE. 

The  flatteries  I  so  long  have  stored 

In  memory's  casket  one  by  one, 
Must  now  be  stricken  from  the  hoard ; 

The  day  of  tinselled  joy  is  done  ! 
Here  go  the  useless  jewels !  see 

The  golden  lustre  they  impart ! 
But  vain  the  smiles  of  earth  for  me, 

They  cannot  gild  a  broken  heart ! 

THE  WORLD  FOR  SALE  ! — Hang  out  the  sign ; 

Call  every  traveller  here  to  me ; 
Who'll  buy  this  brave  estate  of  mine, 

And  set  me  from  earth's  bondage  free ! 
'Tis  going ! — yes  I  mean  to  fling 

The  bauble  from  my  soul  away ; 
I'll  sell  it,  whatsoe'er  it  bring ; — 

The  World  at  Auction  here  to-day ! 

It  is  a  glorious  thing  to  see ; 

Ah,  it  has  cheated  me  so  sore ! 
It  is  not  what  it  seems  to  be  : 

For  sale !  It  shall  be  mine  no  more. 
Come,  turn  it  o'er  and  view  it  well ; 

I  would  not  have  you  purchase  dear ; 
'Tis  going — going !     I  must  sell ! 

Who  bids !    Who'll  buy  the  Splendid  Tear ! 


WORLD-SALE 

Here's  WEALTH  in  glittering  heaps  of  gold, 

Who  bids !     but  let  me  tell  you  fair, 
A  baser  lot  was  never  sold ; 

Who'll  buy  the  heavy  heaps  of  care ! 
And  here,  spread  out  in  broad  domain, 

A  goodly  landscape  all  may  trace ; 
Hall,  cottage,  tree,  field,  hill  and  plain  ; 

Who'll  buy  himself  a  Burial  Place ! 

Here's  LOVE,  the  dreamy  potent  spell 

That  beauty  flings  around  the  heart ! 
I  know  its  power,  alas,  too  well ! 

"Pis  going !  Love  and  I  must  part ! 
Must  part  !     What  can  I  more  with  Love ! 

All  over  the  enchanter's  reign ! 
Who'll  buy  the  plumeless,  dying  dove, 

An  hour  of  bliss, — an  age  of  Pain ! 

And  FRIENDSHIP, — rarest  gem  of  earth, 

(Who  e'er  hath  found  the  jewel  his  ?) 
Frail,  fickle,  false  and  little  worth,    . 

Who  bids  for  Friendship — as  it  is ! 
'Tis  going — going ! — Hear  the  call ; 

Once,  twice,  and  thrice! — 'Tis  very  low! 
'Twas  once  my  hope,  my  stay,  my  all, 

But  now  the  broken  staff  must  go ! 


WORLD-SALE. 

FAME  !  hold  the  brilliant  meteor  high ; 

How  dazzling  every  gilded  name ! 
Ye  millions,  now's  the  time  to  buy ! 

How  much  for  Fame !  How  much  for  Fame ! 
Hear  how  it  thunders !   would  you  stand 

On  high  Olympus,  far  renowned, 
Now  purchase,  and  a  world  command ! — 

And  be  with  a  world's  curses  crowned ! 

Sweet  star  of  Hope !  with  ray  to  shine 

In  every  sad  foreboding  breast, 
Save  this  desponding  one  of  mine, 

Who  bids  for  man's  last  friend  and  best ! 
Ah,  were  not  mine  a  bankrupt  life, 

This  treasure  should  my  soul  sustain ; 
But  Hope  and  I  are  now  at  strife, 

Nor  ever  may  unite  again. 

i 
And  SONG  ! — For  sale  my  tuneless  lute ; 

Sweet  solace,  mine  no  more  to  hold ; 
The  chords  that  charmed  my  soul  are  mute, 

I  cannot  wake  the  notes  of  old ! 
Or  e'en  were  mine  a  wizard  shell,. 

Could  chain  a  world  in  raptures  high ; 
Yet  now  a  sad  farewell ! — farewell ! 

Must  on  its  last  faint  echoes  die. 


W  0  R  L  D  -  SA  L  E . 

Ambition,  fashion,  show,  and  pride, 

I  part  from  all  for  ever  now ; 
Grief,  in  an  overwhelming  tide, 

Has  taught  my  haughty  heart  to  bow. 
Poor  heart !  distracted,  ah,  so  long, 

And  still  its  aching  throb  to  bear ; 
How  broken,  that  was  once  so  strong ; 

How  heavy,  once  so  free  from  care. 

Ah,  cheating  earth ! — could  man  but  know, 

Sad  soul  of  mine,  what  thou  and  I, — 
The  bud  would  never  wish  to  blow, 

The  nestling  never  long  to  fly ! 
Perfuming  the  regardless  air ; 

High  soaring  into  empty  space ; 
A  blossom  ripening  to  despair, 

A  flight — without  a  resting  place ! 

No  more  for  me  life's  fitful  dream ; 

Bright  vision,  vanishing  away ! 
My  bark  requires  a  deeper  stream ; 

My  sinking  soul  a  surer  stay. 
By  death,  stern  sheriff!  all  bereft, 

I  weep,  yet  humbly  kiss  the  rod ; 
The  best  of  all  I  still  have  left,— 

My  Faith,  my  Bible,  and  my  God. 


'T.UJiWJl'J    ''If i. 


OLD; 


A    RURAL    SKETCH. 


BY  the  way-side,  on  a  mossy  stone, 
Sat  a  hoary  pilgrim  sadly  musing ; 

Oft  I  marked  him  sitting  there  alone, 
All  the  landscape  like  a  page  perusing ; 
Poor,  unknown, 

By  the  way-side,  on  a  mossy  stone. 


OLD. 

Buckled  knee  and  shoe,  and  broad-rimmed  hat, 
Coat  as  ancient  as  the  form  'twas  folding, 

Silver  buttons,  queue,  and  crimped  cravat, 

Oaken  staff,  his  feeble  hand  upholding, 

There  he  sat ! 

Buckled  knee  and  shoe,  and  broad-rimmed  hat. 

Seemed  it  pitiful  he  should  sit  there, 
No  one  sympathizing,  no  one  heeding, 

None  to  love  him  for  his  thin  grey  hair, 
And  the  furrows  all  so  mutely  pleading 
Age  and  care ; 

Seemed  it  pitiful  he  should  sit  there. 

It  was  summer,  and  we  went  to  school, 
Dapper  country  lads  and  little  maidens, 

Taught  the  motto  of  the  "  Dunce's  Stool," 
Its  grave  import  still  my  fancy  ladens, 
"  HERE'S  A  FOOL  !" 

It  was  summer,  and  we  went  to  school. 

Still,  in  sooth,  our  tasks  we  seldom  tried ; 

Sportive  pastime  only  worth  our  learning  , 
But  we  listened  when  the  old  man  sighed, 

And  that  lesson  to  our  hearts  went  burning, 

And  we  cried ! 
Still,  in  sooth,  our  tasks  we  seldom  tried. 


OLD. 


When  the  stranger  seemed  to  mark  our  play, 

(Some  of  us  were  joyous,  some  sad-hearted,) 
I  remember,  well, — too  well, — that  day ! 
'  Oftentimes  the  tears  unbidden  started, 

Would  not  stay ! 
When  the  stranger  seemed  to  mark  our  play. 

When  we  cautiously  adventured  nigh 

We  could  see  his  lip  with  anguish  quiver : 

Yet  no  word  he  uttered,  but  his  eye 

Seemed  in  mournful  converse  with  the  river 
Murmuring  by, 

When  we  cautiously  adventured  nigh. 

One  sweet  spirit  broke  the  silent  spell, 

Ah !  to  me  her  name  was  always  heaven ! 

She  besought  him  all  his  grief  to  tell, 
(I  was  then  thirteen,  and  she  eleven,) 
ISABEL ! 

One  sweet  spirit  broke  the  silent  spell. 

Softly  asked  she  with  a  voice  divine, 

Why  so  lonely  hast  thou  wandered  hither ; 
Hast  no  home  ? — then  come  with  me  to  mine  ; 

There's  our  cottage,  let  me  lead  thee  thither; 
• 

Why  repine, 

Softly  asked  she  with  a  voice  divine. 


OLD. 

» 

Angel,  said  he  sadly,  I  am  old : 
Earthly  hope  no  longer  hath  a  morrow 

Yet  why  I  sit  here  thou  shalt  be  told, 

Then  his  eye  betrayed  a  pearl  of  sorrow ; 
Down  it  rolled ; 

Angel,  said  he  sadly,  I  am  old ! 

I  have  tottered  here  to  look  once  more 
On  the  pleasant  scene  where  I  delighted 

In  the  careless,  happy  days  of  yore, 

Ere  the  garden  of  my  heart  was  blighted 
To  the  core ! 

I  have  tottered  here  to  look  once  more ! 

All  the  picture  now  to  me  how  dear ! 

E'en  this  grey  old  rock  where  I  am  seated, 
Seems  a  jewel  worth  my  journey  here ; 

Ah,  that  such  a  scene  should  be  completed 

With  a  tear ! 
All  the  picture  now  to  me  how  dear ! 

Old  stone  School-house  ! — it  is  still  the  same ! 

There's  the  very  step  so  oft  I  mounted ; 
There's  the  window  creaking  in  its  frame, 

And  the  notches  that  I  cut  and  counted 

For  the  game : 
Old  stone  School-house ! — it  is  still  the  same ! 


OLD. 

In  the  cottage  yonder  I  was  born ; 

Long  my  happy  home — that  humble  dwelling ; 
There  the  fields  of  clover,  wheat,  and  corn, 

There  the  spring  with  limpid  nectar  swelling ; 

Ah,  forlorn ! — 
In  the  cottage  yonder  I  was  born. 

Those  two  gate- way  sycamores  you  see 

Then  were  planted,  just  so  far  asunder 
That  long  well-pole  from  the  path  to  free, 
And  the  wagon  to  pass  safely  under ; 

Ninety-three ! 
Those  two  gate-way  sycamores  you  see. 

There's  the  orchard  where  we  used  to  climb 
When  my  mates  and  I  were  boys  together, 

Thinking  nothing  of  the  flight  of  time, 

Fearing  nought  but  work  and  rainy  weather; 
Past  its  prime ! 

There's  the  orchard  where  we  used  to  climb ! 

There  the  rude  three-cornered  chestnut  rails, 

Round  the  pasture  where  the  flocks  were  grazing, 

Where  so  sly  I  used  to  watch  for  quails 
In  the  crops  of  buckwheat  we  were  raising, 
Traps  and  trails, 

There  the  rude  three-cornered  chestnut  rails. 


OLD. 

How  in  summer  have  I  traced  that  stream, 

There  through  mead  and  woodland  sweetly  gliding, 

Luring  simple  trout  with  many  a  scheme 

From  the  nooks  where  I  have  found  them  hiding  ; 
All  a  dream ! 

How  in  summer  have  I  traced  that  stream. 

There's  the  mill  that  ground  our  yellow  grain ; 

Pond,  and  river  still  serenely  flowing ; 
Cot,  there  nestling  in  the  shaded  lane, 

Where  the  lily  of  my  heart  was  blowing, — 

MARY  JANE  ! 
There's  the  mill  that  ground  our  yellow  grain! 

There's  the  gate  on  which  I  used  to  swing, 
Brook,  and  bridge,  and  barn,  and  old  red  stable  : 

But,  alas !  the  morn  shall  no  more  bring 
That  dear  group  around  my  father's  table ; 
Taken  wing ! 

There's  the  gate  on  which  I  used  to  swing ! 

I  am  fleeing ! — all  I  loved  are  fled ; 

Yon  green  meadow  was  our  place  for  playing ; 
That  old  tree  can  tell  of  sweet  things  said, 

When  around  it  Jane  and  I  were  straying ; 

She  is  dead! 
I  am  fleeing ! — all  I  loved  are  fled ! 


OLD. 

Yon  white  spire — a  pencil  on  the  sky, 
Tracing  silently  life's  changeful  story, 

So  familiar  to  my  dim  old  eye, 

Points  me  to  seven  that  are  now  in  glory 

There  on  high ! 
Yon  white  spire,  a  pencil  on  the  sky. 

Oft  the  aisle  of  that  old  church  we  trod, 
Guided  thither  by  an  angel  mother, 

Now  she  sleeps  beneath  its  sacred  sod, 
Sire  and  sisters,  and  my  little  brother ; 
Gone  to  God ! 

Oft  the  aisle  of  that  old  church  we  trod  ! 

There  I  heard  of  Wisdom's  pleasant  ways ; 

Bless  the  holy  lesson  ! — but,  ah,  never 
Shall  I  hear  again  those  songs  of  praise, 

Those  sweet  voices  silent  now  forever ! 

Peaceful  days ! 
There  I  heard  of  Wisdom's  pleasant  ways. 

There  my  Mary  blest  me  with  her  hand, 

When  our  souls  drank  in  the  nuptial  blessing, 
Ere  she  hastened  to  the  spirit  land : 

Yonder  turf  her  gentle  bosom  pressing : 

Broken  band! 
There  my  Mary  blest  me  with  her  hand. 


OLD 

I  have  come  to  see  that  grave  once  more, 
And  the  sacred  place  where  we  delighted, 

Where  we  worshipped  in  the  days  of  yore, 
Ere  the  garden  of  my  heart  was  blighted 
To  the  core ! 

I  have  come  to  see  that  grave  once  more. 

Haply,  ere  the  verdure  there  shall  fade, 
I,  all  withering  with  years,  shall  perish ; 

With  my  Mary  may  I  there  be  laid, 
Join  forever — all  the  wish  I  cherish — 
Her  dear  Shade ! — 

Haply,  ere  the  verdure  there  shall  fade. 

Angel,  said  he  sadly,  I  am  old ! 

Earthly  hope  no  longe*  hath  a  morrow ; 
Now  why  I  sit  here  thou  hast  been  told ; 

In  his  eye  another  pearl  of  sorrow, — 

Down  it  rolled ! 
Angel,  said  he  sadly,  I  am  old ! 

By  the  way-side,  on  a  mossy  stone, 
Sat  the  hoary  pilgrim,  sadly  musing ; 

Still  I  marked  him  sitting  there  alone, 
All  the  landscape  like  a  page  perusing ; 
Poor,  unknown, 

By  the  way-side,  on  a  mossy  stone. 


NEW, 


A  PORTRAITURE  OF  DISCONTENT. 


STILL  sighs  the  world  for  something  nev 

For  something  new  ; 
Imploring  me,  imploring  you, 

Some  Will-o'-wisp  to  help  pursue ; 
Ah,  hapless  world,  what  will  it  do  ! 
Imploring  me,  imploring  you, 
For  something  NEW  ! 


Each  pleasure,  tasted,  fades  away, 

It  fades  away ; 
Nor  you  nor  I  can  bid  it  stay  ; 

A  dew-drop  trembling  on  a  spray  ; 
A  rainbow  at  the  close  of  day  ; 
Nor  you  nor  I  can  bid  it  stay  ; 
It  fades  away  ! 


NEW. 

Fill  up  life's  chalice  to  the  brim  ; 

Up  to  the  brim  ; 
'Tis  only  a  capricious  whim  ; 

A  dreamy  phantom,  flitting  dim, 
Inconstant  still  for  Her,  or  Him  ; 
'Tis  only  a  capricious  whim, 
Up  to  the  brim  ! 

SHE  . 

SHE,  young  and  fair,  expects  delight ; 

Expects  delight ; 
Forsooth,  because  the  morn  is  bright, 

She  deems  it  never  will  be  night, 
That  youth  hath  not  a  wing  for  flight, 
Forsooth,  because  the  morn  is  bright, 
Expects  delight ! 


The  rose,  once  gathered,  cannot  please  ; 

It  cannot  please  ; 
Ah,  simple  maid,  a  rose  to  seize, 

That  only  blooms  to  tempt  and  teaze  : 
With  thorns  to  rob  the  heart  of  ease  ; 
Ah,  simple  maid,  a  rose  to  seize  ; 
It  cannot  please  ! 


«*«$,   5'- 


NEW. 

'Tis  winter,  but  she  pines  for  spring ; 

She  pines  for  spring  ; 
No  bliss  its  frost  and  follies  bring  ; 
A  bird  of  passage  on  the  wing  ; 
Unhappy,  discontented  thing  : 

No  bliss  its  frost  and  follies  bring  ; 
She  pines  for  spring  ! 


V 


Delicious  May,  and  azure  skies, 

And  azure  skies  ; 
With  flowers  of  paradisial  dyes  ; 

Now,  maiden,  happy  be  and  wise 
Ah,  JUNE  can  only  charm  her  eyes 
With  flowers  of  paradisial  dyes, 
And  azure  skies  ! 


The  glowing,  tranquil  summertime, 

The  Summer-time  ; 
Too  listless  in  a  maiden's  prime, 
Dull,  melancholy  pantomime  ; 
Oh,  for  a  gay  autumnal  clime  : 
Too  listless  in  a  maiden's  prime. 
The  Summer-time  ! 


NEW. 

October  !  with  earth's  richest  store  ; 

Earth's  richest  store  ! 
Alas,  insipid  as  before  ; 

Days,  months,  and  seasons,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Remotest  lands  their  treasures  pour ; 
Alas,  insipid  as  before, 
Earth's  richest  store  ! 


Love  nestles  in  that  gentle  breast ; 

That  gentle  breast ; 
Ah,  love  will  never  let  it  rest ! 

The  cruel,  sly,  ungrateful  guest ; 
A  viper  in  a  linnet's  nest ; 
Ah,  love  will  never  let  it  rest ; 
That  gentle  breast ! 


Could  she  embark  on  Fashion's  tide  ; 

On  fashion's  tide  ; 
How  gaily  might  a  maiden  glide  ; — 

Contentment,  innocence,  and  pride, 
All  stranded  upon  either  side  ! — 
How  gaily  might  a  maiden  glide, 
On  fashion's  tide ! 


NEW. 

Ah,  maiden,  time  will  make  thee  smart ; 

Will  make  thee  smart ; 
Some  new,  and  keen,  and  poisoned  dart, 
Will  pierce  at  last  that  restless  heart ; 
Youth,  friends,  and  beauty  will  depart ; 
Some  new,  and  keen,  and  poisoned  dart, 
Will  make  thee  smart ! 


So  pants  for  change  the  fickle  fair ; 

The  fickle  fair ; 
A  feather  floating  in  the  air, 

Still  wafted  here,  and  wafted  there, 
No  charm,  no  hazard  worth  her  care  ; 
A  feather  floating  in  the  air, 
The  fickle  Fair  ! 


HE  . 


How  sad  his  lot,  the  hapless  swain  ; 

The  hapless  Swain  ; 
With  care,  and  toil,  in  heat  and  rain, 

To  speed  the  plough  or  harvest-wain, 
Still  reaping  only  fields  of  grain, 

With  care,  and  toil,  in  heat  and  rain  ; 
The  hapless  Swain ! 


§ 


NEW. 

Must  bear,  alas,  parental  rule  ; 

Parental  rule  ; 
The  tiresome  task  ;  the  irksome  school ; 

His  life  is  but  a  passive  pool ; 
O,  were  he  but  a  man  ! — (the  fool !) 
The  tiresome  task,  the  irksome  school, 
Parental  rule  ! 


Youth,  weary  youth,  'twill  soon  be  past ; 

'Twill  soon  be  past ; 
His  MANHOOD'S  happiness  shall  last ; 
Renown,  and  riches,  far  and  fast, 
Their  potent  charms  shall  round  him  cast, 
His  Manhood's  happiness  shall  last : — 
'TwilJ  soon  be  past ! 


Now  toiling  up  ambition's  steep  ; 

Ambition's  steep  ; 
The  rugged  path  is  hard  to  keep  ; 

The  spring  how  far  !  the  well  how  deep  ! 
Ah  me  !  in  folly's  bower  asleep  ! 
The  rugged  path  is  hard  to  keep  ; 
Ambition's  steep  ! 


NEW. 

The  dream  fulfilled  !  rank,  fortune,  fame  ; 

Rank,  fortune,  fame  ; 
Vain  fuel  for  celestial  flame  ! 

He  wins  and  wears  a  glittering  name, 
Yet  sighs  his  longing  soul  the  same  ; 
Vain  fuel  for  celestial  flame, 
Rank,  fortune,  fame  ! 


Sweet  Beauty  aims  with  Cupid's  Bow ; 

With  Cupid's  bow ; 
Can  she  transfix  him  now  ? — ah,  no  ! 
Amid  the  fairest  flowers  that  blow, 
The  torment  but  alights — to  go  ; 
Can  she  transfix  him  now  ?— -ah,  no, 
With  Cupid's  bow ! 


Indulgent  heaven  grant  but  this, 

O  grant  but  this, 
The  boon  shall  be  enough  of  bliss, 

A  HOME,  with  true  affection's  kiss, 
To  mend  whate'er  may  hap  amiss, 
The  boon  shall  be  enough  of  bliss  ; 
O  grant  but  this  ! 


NEW. 

The  Eden  won  : — insatiate  still, 

Insatiate  still ; — 
A  wider,  fairer  range,  he  will ; 

Some  mountain  higher  than  his  hill ; 
Some  prospect  fancy's  map  to  fill ; 
A  wider,  fairer  range,  he  will ; 
Insatiate  still ! 


From  maid  to  matron,  son  to  sire  : 

From  son  to  sire, 
Each  bosom  burns  with  quenchless  fire, 

Where  life's  vain  phantasies  expire 
In  some  new  phoenix  of  desire  ; 

Each  bosom  burns  with  quenchless  fire, 
From  son  to  sire  ! 


Still  sighs  the  world  for  something  new, 

For  something  new  ; 
Imploring  me,  imploring  you, 

Some  Will-o'-wisp  to  help  pursue  ; 
Ah,  hapless  world,  what  will  it  do  ; 

Imploring  me,  imploring  you, 

For  SOMETHING  NEW  ! 


RAIN. 


A  SUMMER  REMINISCENCE. 


IN  the  valley,  I  remember, 

Where  my  life's  bright  morn  was  glowing, 
Summer-morning ! — no  December 

Wintry  gales  of  sorrow  blowing ; 

Wilton  dale ! 
All  was  bliss  in  that  sweet  vale ! 

There  were  gently  sloping  meadows, 

Where  sweet  streams  went  softly  gliding, 

Sunny  glades  and  forest  shadows, 

All  in  beauty  there  abiding : 

Simple  swain, 

Most  of  all  I  loved— the  RAIN  ! 


R  A  IN. 

Summer! — lies  the  fragrant  clover 
Where  the  harvestmen  were  reaping, 

But  the  morning  task  is  over, 
And  the  laborers  are  sleeping : 
It  is  noon, 

In  the  sultry  time  of  June. 

'Mid  the  brook  that  murmurs  yonder, 
Deep  the  weary  ox  is  wading 

To  the  cool  retreat,  far  under 

Where  the  arching  boughs  o'ershading, 
Shun  the  fly, 

Tiresome  yoke,  and  burning  sky. 

Happy  valley ! — so  serenely 

Morning's  toilsome  season  closing ; 

E'en  the  scythe,  that  mowed  so  keenly, 
Rake,  and  haystack  seem  reposing ; 
Vale  and  hill, 

Rural  noontide — warm  and  still. 

Long  the  thirsty  fields  have  waited, 
Of  refreshing  nectar  dreaming ; 

But  the  tokens  have  abated, 
Every  hope  fallacious  seeming ; 
Drooping  low, 

All  the  harvests  mourn  the  wo. 


R  AIN. 

Voice  beyond  the  mountains ! — harken ! 

Nature's  awful  bass  is  pealing ; 
Clouds  the  fair  horizon  darken, 

Over  all  the  valley  stealing — 

Up ! — prepare ! — 
There's  a  deluge  in  the  air ! 

Now  the  distant  woods  awaken, 
Where  the  gusty  wind  is  calling; 

Now  the  nearer  trees  are  shaken, 

And  the  great  round  drops  are  falling ; 
Take  the  lane ! — 

There  will  be  a  drenching  rain ! 

Homestead ! — ours  was  very  lowly, 
Rafters  on  the  lattice  pressing ; 

Yet,  though  humble,  it  seemed  holy — 
For,  when  God  sent  down  his  blessing 
From  the  cloud, 

The  old  roof  would  sing  aloud ! 

With  the  past  as  memory  mingles, 
Often  yet  mine  ear  is  listening 

For  that  anthem  of  the  shingles ! — 
Hopeful — till  mine  eye  is  glistening 
With  this  truth — 

Gone  the  music  of  rny  youth ! 


RAIN. 

Now  descends  the  brimming  fountain ! 

Window,  door  and  eaves  are  dripping ; 
O'er  the  pasture,  up  the  mountain, 

Scampering  cattle  soon  outstripping — 

Onward  yet — 
All  the  landscape  drowning  wet! 

Leisure  now  for  jest  and  story, 
Village  news,  or  song,  or  reading, 

Ballad  tales  of  love  and  glory ; 
All  the  clattering  storm  unheeding, 
Let  it  pour, — 

Cannot  reach  the  old  oak  floor ! 

Peace  within  that  household  ever  ; 

Love's  sweet  rule  each  breast  controlling ; 
Truth's  high  precepts  broken  never : 

What  though  clouds  around  are  rolling — 

Let  them  roll — 
Theirs  the  sunshine  of  the  soul ! 

Matchless  painter ! — leaf  and  flower 

All  their  faded  hues  reviving ; 
How  the  garden  drinks  the  shower, 

Life  and  loveliness  deriving ; 

Grove  and  glade 
All  in  sprightly  pearls  arrayed. 


RAIN. 

E'en  less  mournful  yon  lone  willow, 
By  the  churchyard  ever  weeping ; 

And  the  daisies  o'er  each  pillow 
Where  the  blessed  dead  are  sleeping, 
Seem  to  say — 

We  revive — and  so  will  they ! 

Yonder,  at  the  Inn,  together 

Fast  a  wayside  group  collecting ; 

Much  discourse  of  rainy  weather, 
Idle  almanacs  rejecting, 
Boy  and  man 

Each  predicting  all  he  can. 

Hark  the  ring  of  happy  voices ; 

Wagon  from  the  school  appearing ; 
How  each  drowning  imp  rejoices, 

As  the  puzzled  team  go  veering 

Gee,  and  haw, 
With  the  noisy  load  they  draw. 

Slowly  eventide  advances ; 

Fanny  at  the  window  reading, 
Slyly  from  the  casement  glances ; — 

Who  the  youth  the  storm  unheeding, 

At  the  gate  ? — 
Blushes  Fanny — whispers  Kate. 


RAIN. 

Is  he  stranger  worn  with  travel, 
Refuge  from  the  torrent  seeking  ? 

Timid  looks  the  doubt  unravel, 
Looks  all  eloquently  speaking ! 
Happy  guest, 

With  a  welcome  so  confest ! 

Earnest  he  apologizes, 

From  the  mill  in  haste  returning, 
(Ah,  forgive  young  love's  disguises, 

Though  it  rains,  his  heart  is  burning ;) 

He  will  stay 
Just  a  moment  on  his  way. 

Now  the  motley  barnyard  nation, 
Cackling,  lowing,  neighing,  squealing, 

Crowd  at  their  accustomed  station, 
For  the  evening  fare  appealing ; 
Hastens  Ned, 

And  the  poor  wet  things  are  fed. 

Slowly  spread  the  shades  of  even ; 

Night,  on  raven  wing  descended, 
Shuts  the  mighty  doors  of  heaven ; 

And,  the  landscape's  glory  ended, 

Ends  the  Lay, 
Happy — rural — Rainy  day. 


SHOWER. 

In  a  valley  that  I  know, — 

Happy  scene! 

There  are  meadows  sloping  low, 
There  the  fairest  flowers  blow, 
And  the  brightest  waters  flow, 

All  serene ; 

But  the  sweetest  thing  to  see, 
If  you  ask  the  dripping  tree, 
Or  the  harvest-hoping  swain, 

Is  the  Rain! 


Ah,  the  dwellers  of  the  town, 

How  they  sigh, 
How  ungratefully  they  frown 
When  the  cloud-king  shakes  his  crown, 
And  the  pearls  come  pouring  down 

From  the  sky ! 
They  descry  no  charm  at  all 
Where  the  sparkling  jewels  fall, 
And  each  moment  of  the  shower, 

Seems  an  hour. 


SHOWER. 

Yet  there's  something  very  sweet 

In  the  sight, 

When  the  crystal  currents  meet, 
In  the  dry  and  dusty  street, 
And  they  wrestle  with  the  heat, 

In  their  might ! 

While  they  seem  to  hold  a  talk 
With  the  stones  along  the  walk, 
And  remind  them  of  the  rule, 

To  "  keep  cool !" 

But  in  that  quiet  dell, 

Ever  fair, 

Still  the  Lord  doth  all  things  well, 
When  His  clouds  with  blessings  swell, 
And  they  break  a  brimming  shell 

On  the  air ; 

There  the  Shower  hath  its  charms 
Sweet  and  welcome  to  the  farms, 
As  they  listen  to  its  voice 

And  rejoice ! 


OUTALISSA, 


A  TRADITION  OF  SENECA  LAKE. 


JVbte. — [SENECA  LAKE,  on  which  the  town  of  Geneva  is  situ 
ated,  is  perhaps  the  most  picturesque  sheet  of  water  in  our 
State.  It  is  about  forty -one  miles  long,  and  two  miles  wide ; 
embellished  with  the  most  romantic  scenery,  furnishing  at 
every  point  fine  subjects  for  the  pen  or  for  the  pencil.  The  wa 
ter  rises  and  falls  a  few  inches  at  regular  intervals ;  a  phenome 
non  not  accounted  for  in  this,  nor  observed  in  our  other  lakes 
Dead  bodies  never  float  upou  its  surface,  but  its  extreme  trans 
parency  often  reveals  what,  like  a  subtle  murderer,  it  would 
never  otherwise  confess.  A  large  tree  has  been  floating  up  and 
down,  from  end  to  end  of  this  beautiful  lake,  during  many 


OUTALISSA. 

years,  and  it  is  now  regarded  with  much  interest  by  the  ancient 
dwellers  of  the  neighborhood,  from  whom  tho  writer  gathered 
the  wild  tradition  concerning  it,  which,  in  the  following  poem, 
he  has  endeavored  to  preserve.] 


OUTALISSA. 

THE  tempest  gathering  fierce  and  fast 

Darkly  the  welkin  overcast ; 
The  sun  was  o'er  the  western  hill ; 

And  autumn  winds  blew  chill ; 
The  ominous  melancholy  owl 

Screamed  to  the  prowling  panther's  howl ; 
The  wolf  lay  lurking  in  his  lair, 

Scenting  the  treacherous  air. 


By  Seneca,  that  wildly  tossed, 
A  weary  stranger,  lone  and  lost, 

Pursued  his  dismal,  dangerous  way, 
Seeking  a  place  to  lay 

His  fainting  heart  and  aching  head, 
And  sleep  the  slumber  of  the  dead  ; 


OUTALISSA. 


Praying  only  that  he  might  die 

Screened  from  each  monster's  eye. 


0 


As  sadly  onward  still  he  pressed, 

Deep  anguish  brooding  in  his  breast, 
The  last  hope  quenching  in  despair, — 

"  Yaicomah  ! — who  comes  there  ?" 
A  forest-voice  demanded  mild  ! — 

"  Peace  to  the  wanderer  of  the  wild  ! 
Rest,  stranger, — hide  thee  from  the  blast 

Till  this  drear  night  be  past. 
In  Outalissa's  friendly  cell, 

The  white  man  shall  securely  dwell, 
Shall  sit  upon  the  welcome-seat, 

And  share  his  children's  meat." 
To  where  a  taper  dimly  burned, 

The  worn  wayfarer  fainting  turned, 
And  soon  within  the  red  man's  door 

Slept,  all  his  sorrows  o'er. 

Went  past  the  night, — went  past  the  storm 
The  morning  sun  came  bright  and  warm 
Adown  on  hill,  and  vale,  and  wood, 
Cheering  the  mighty  solitude. 


OUTALI8SA. 

Where  grew  the  sacred  Council-Tree, 

Upon  the  verge  of  Outalee, 

The  chieftain  and  the  guest  ascend, 

And  free  in  social  converse  blend  ; 

Beguiling  still  the  toilsome  way 

With  kindest  words  that  each  could  say, 

Till,  from  the  summit's  lofty  crown, 

They  on  the  scene  below  looked  down, 

Far-gazing,  as  o'er  half  the  globe, 

On  nature  in  her  fairest  robe  ; 

Old  forests,  dells,  and  silver  streams, 

It  seemed  but  Fancy's  land  of  dreams, 

A  glorious  inspiring  sight — 

A  world  all  bathed  in  living  light, ! 

But  deeply  now  the  patriarch  sighed, 

And,  o'er  the  lovely  vision,  cried 

"  Alas,  that  these  old  eyes  should  see, 

Home  of  my  sires,  thy  destiny  ! 

Mark,  stranger  !     When  these  limbs  are  still, 

When  Outalissa's  heart  is  chill, 

When  his  fleet  arrow  flies  no  more 

By  Seneca's  wild  mountain  shore, 

Then  this  fair  landscape  shall  be  thine  ; 


OTJTALISSA. 

The  white  man's  sword  these  fields  of  mine 

Will  stain  with  the  poor  Indian's  blood  ; 

Each  rivulet  will  be  a  flood 

Swoll'n  with  our  wives'  and  orphans'  tears  ! 

Ar^  that  these  eyes  should  see  those  years  ! 

That  I,  prophetic,  should  behold 

The  wolf  in  my  defenceless  fold, 

And  unavenged,  foredoomed  to  die, 

My  trusty  warriors  lifeless  lie  ! 


Oh  stranger,  that  dark  hour  I  see, 
Yet  turns  my  heart  in  hope  to  thee  ; 
Say,  when  the  red  man's  hut  shall  blaze, 
And  thy  white  brothers  fierce  shall  raise 
The  long,  annihilating  knife, 
Wilt  thou  protect  my  widowed  wife  ; 
My  comely,  dark-eyed  daughter  save 
From  brutal  hands,  if  not  the  grave. 
But  ah,  too  much  from  thee  I  ask  ; 
'Twere  e'en  for  me  a  mighty  task, 
Though  I  were  then  as  firm  to  be, 
And  stalwart,  as  this  Council-Tree  : 
I  would  not,  stranger,  ask  thee  swear 
To  see  fulfilled  a  hopeless  prayer, 


OUTALISSA. 

But  this  one  boon  I  joy  to  know 
Thou  canst  and  freely  wilt  bestow  ; 
Take  this  green  branch,  and  o'er  it  bend, 
And  swear  to  be  the  Indian's  friend  !  ' 

Then  thrice  the  stranger  bowed  him  o'er 
The  mystic  rnisletoe  and  swore, 
"  By  Manitou  that  hears  me  vow, 
By  yon  bright  orb  that  sees  me  bow, 
By  the  deep  lake  beneath  our  feet, 
By  heaven  above,  that  marks  deceit, 
And  by  this  sacred  Tree,  whose  shade 
A  solemn  council-hall  is  made, 
Eternal  love  to  thee  and  thine 
Shall  warm  this  grateful  heart  of  mine  !" 

"  Enough  !"  the  aged  Sachem  said, 
And  pensive  drooped  his  silvered  head  ; 
Sad  thoughts  oppressed  his  heart, — he  wept, 
Then  leaned  against  the  tree,  and  slept. 


Now  noon  was  glowing  on  the  hills, 
The  herds  were  laving  in  the  rills, 
The  lake,  rejoicing  in  its  sheen, 


OUTALISSA. 

Reflected  all  the  golden  scene, 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  and  the  breeze 
Came  odorous  o'er  sweet-scented  trees, 
'Twas,  near  and  far,  a  fair  domain 
A  monarch  might  be  proud  to  gain. 

Then  rushed  upon  the  stranger's  soul, 
Temptation  dark, — 'tis  but  to  roll 
The  sleeping  chief  beyond  the  brink, 
And  all  is  mine  ! — 'tis  but  a  link 
That,  breaking,  I  shall  sooner  buy 
What  must  be  mine  by  prophecy. 

The  spell  had  power  ! — Oh  gratitude, 
Where  then  thy  thunderbolts  ! — he  viewed 
The  slumber  deepening  on  the  eye, 
Watched  the  last,  sad,  foreboding  sigh, 
Till  all  in  quiet  sleep  were  stilled, 
Then  crept,  a  murderer,  staunch  and  skilled, 
And  the  dread  perjury  fulfilled  ! 


The  deed  was  seen  in  heaven,  and  swift 

The  Spirit-Senecas  uplift 

Their  vengeful  prayer  : — Oh  !  Manitou  ! 


OUTALISSA. 

That  see'st  o'er  all  the  world  below, 
And  mark'st  the  ingrate,  and  deceit, 
Let  flee  the  whirlwind  from  thy  feet ! 
But  e'er  that  prayer  had  reached  the  throne, 
The  dire,  avenging  blast  was  down  ! 
Clutched  the  foul  wretch,  and  reft  the  tree 
That  shadowed  o'er  the  perjury, 
And  instant,  as  the  lightning's  flash, 
Down,  down  the  craggy  steep  they  crash ! 
Till  from  the  jutting  rock  they  take 
The  last  wild  bound  and  reach  the  lake  ! 
Th'  astonished  water  hastes  to  hide 
The  twain  intruders  in  its  tide  ; 
Mid-depth  they  part, — the  villain  white 
Sinks  to  the  caves, — the  tree,  to  sight 
Its  way  with  swift  ascension  wins, 
And  its  long  wandering  begins. 


The  sires  of  Seneca  are  dead, 
A  thousand  moons  have  come  and  fled, 
Their  hunting  seasons  all  are  past, 
Yet  still  that  Council-Tree  shall  last, 
And  as  it  journeys  still  complain — 

"  I  SAW  GREAT  OlJTALISSA  SLAIN  !" 


•<-" 

:f^>4,     -•  i 


THE 


BLACKSMITH'S  NIGHT. 


O  WELCOME  hour  when  peaceful  eve  once  more 
Spreads  her  dun  curtain  for  a  world's  repose  ; 
Bids  him  be  free  who  was  a  slave  before, 

And  for  his  woes 
Her  mystic  balm,  oblivious  sleep,  bestows. 


All  hushed  the  landscape,  and  the  sinking  sun 

Like  a  tired  giant  closes  for  the  night 
The  wondrous  labor  he  again  hath  done, 

In  his  swift  flight, 
Girding  the  earth_  anew  with  hoops  of  light ! 


n 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

Yet  as  from  my  low  smithy  now  I  gaze, 

Far  to  the  eaves  of  his  great  shop  sublime, 
Still  seems  his  mighty  furnace  all  a-blaze, 

Still  seems  to  chime 
His  ponderous  anvil  witn  the  sledge  of  Time  ! 


His  sky-wide  window  in  the  west  how  red 
As  with  some  molten  metal's  fiery  glow  ! 
And  how  the  cinders  glitter  overhead, 

In  starry  show, 
As  far  their  twinkling  radiance  they  throw  ! 


Laborious  Phoebus  !  with  long  ages  gray, 

What  sudden  chance  requires  his  toilful  skill  ? 
Hath  earth's  old  groaning  axis  given  way  ? 

Or  doth  he  still 
Repair  some  wheel,  o'erstrained  up  Morn's  steep  hill! 


Or  doth  he  now  his  furious  steeds  re  shoe, 
To  climb  again  the  azure  arch  on  high  ; 
Or  at  his  fire  his  tarnished  rays  renew, 

Ere  he  can  fly 
To  scatter  light  along  to-morrow's  sky  ! 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

Or  lonely  on  some  dim  Hesperian  brink, 

Doth  he  reluctant  eye  the  darkening  Deep, 
In  sad  incertitude  to  plunge  or  shrink  ; 

.  Constrained  to  leap, 
Yet  shuddering  o'er  the  fearful  flood  to  sweep  ! 


Roll  down,  O  Sun  !  thy  lingering  beams  no  more 
Bring  tranquil  twilight  nor  sweet  peace  to  me  ; 
I  love  the  season  when  thy  reign  is  o'er  ; 

O  Phoebus  flee  ! 
And  let  the  Dark  in  solemn  grandeur — be  ! 


Now  smoky  shadows  the  horizon  skim, 

And  yonder  hills  fast  fading  in  the  west, 
Sing  to  the  dusky  air  a  parting  hymn  ; 

And  sweet  to  rest, 
Night  soothes  all  nature  on  her  Ethiop  breast ! 


Eternal  Darkness  !  would  its  shades  were  mine  ! 

Might  I  no  more  life's  dreary  day  behold  ! 
No  more  to  cringe  or  crave  at  wealth's  proud  shrine 

For  bread  or  gold, 
Crushing  my  heart  in  labor's  abject  mould  ! 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

How,  ere  the  waking  winds  shall  fan  the  east, 
And  on  the  forge  of  Morning  rouse  its  flame,  • 
Must  my  most  welcome  slumber  long  have  ceased, 

And  here  these  same 
O'ertasking  bellows  every  sinew  claim  ! 


How  idle  he,  the  lord  of  yonder  dome, 

Yet  see  the  gorgeous  pomp  his  halls  display  ; 
No  care,  no  want  e'er  enters  that  proud  home, 

While,  wo  the  day, 
My  sternest  toil  drives  not  the  fiends  away  ! 


There  rolls  a  chariot  to  that  house  of  mirth  ; 

These  hands  of  mine  prepared  the  sumptuous  car 
Yet  less  it  serves  to  gladden  my  poor  hearth, 

Than  yon  lone  star, 
Now  beaming  through  my  casement  from  afar  ! 


Why  had  I* not  my  birth  in  that  bright  sphere, 

To  be  an  equal  with  the  blest  above  ; 
Or  why  do  thought  and  feeling  haunt  me  here  ; 

Why  do  I  love  ?— 
A  wounded  Easjle  wedded  with  a  Dove  ! 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

Ah,  broken  pinion  !  ah,  my  famished  nest ! 

And  thou,  my  gentle  mate,  well-tried  and  true, 
How  would  I  wring  the  life-blood  from  my  breast 

To  win  for  you 
The  needful  wealth  I  cannot  even  woo  ! 


O  prisoned  lion  !  dull,  degraded  slave  ! 

Come  blackest  midnight  hide  my  grief  and  shame  ! 
Or  take  me  now  thou  deep  oblivious  grave, 

And  let  my  name 
Perish  forever,  with  this  fettered  frame  ! 


But  lo !  a  form  there  rises  to  my  view, 

And  o'er  the  plain  comes  silently  and  fast ; 
Deep  folding  drapery  of  ink}7  hue 

Around  it  cast, 
From  earth  to  heaven  looming  dread  and  vast ! 


It  is  the  sable  Power  I  dared  to  call ;  - 

The  Majesty  of  Night  august  comes  near ! 
The  dreadful  Presence  doth  my  soul  appal, 

Yet  now  I  hear 
A  kindly  voice  soft  saying — Do  not  fear  ! 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

O,  son  of  toil,  no  more  shalt  thou  repine  : 

I  come  to  show  how  happy,  good  and  great 
Thou  can'st  be  even  in  this  lot  of  thine, 

This  low  estate, 
Smitten  beneath  the  hammer  of  thy  fate ! 


My  ebon  mantle  now  shall  close  thee  round, 

And  thou  shalt  tread  within  that  dark  abyss, 
Where,  haply,  some  sweet  solace  may  be  found, 

Some  quiet  bliss, 
Some  better  life  than  thou  hast  known  in  this  ! 


Be  thine  the  pomp  of  utter  darkness  now  ; 

No  impious  eye  shall  on  thy  rest  intrude  ; 
No  tyrant  task  shall  make  thy  spirit  bow  ; 

By  none  pursued  ; 
Thyself  sole  monarch — reign  in  solitude  ! 


Primeval  Night !  Infinitude  of  gloom  ! 

My  prayer  fulfilled,  yet  brings  it  no  release  ! 
O  for  the  deeper  shadow  of  the  tomb, 

Its  dreamless  peace, 
Where  the  last  throb  of  my  sad  heart  may  cease  ! 


fA 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

Yet  thrills  that  voice  again  the  murky  air, 

Never  a  midnight  but  there  came  a  morn  ! 
Up  from  the  dungeon  now  of  thy  despair, 

For  thou  wast  born 
To  conquer  sorrow,  and  all  fear  to  scorn  ! 


To  thee  is  granted  to  behold  how  Truth 

Links  the  strong  worker  with  the  happy  skies 
In  care's  deep  furrows  plants  immortal  youth, 

And  gives  the  prize 
Of  endless  glory  to  the  bravely  wise  ! 


Centre  thou  art  and  Soul  of  a  domain 

Vast  as  thy  utmost  wish  could  e'er  desire  ; 
Struggle  !  the  Spirit  never  strives  in  vain  ; 

Can  ne'er  expire  ; 
Up  for  thy  sceptre  !  take  thy  throne  of  fire  ! 


For  man  is  regal  when  his  strength  is  tried  ; 

When  spirit  wills  all  matter  must  obey  ; 
Sweeps  the  resistless  mandate  like  a  tide" 

Away,  away,  • 

Till  earth  and  heaven  feel  the  potent  sway  ! 


BLACKSMITH'S    NIGHT. 

Now  as  this  ray  less  gloom  aside  I  fling, 

Thy  realm  of  action  spreading  on  the  view 
Calls  to  the  sooty  Blacksmith — be  a  king  ! 

Thy  reign  renew ; 
Grasping  thy  mace  again,  arise  and  DO  ! 


And  as  the  massive  hammer  thunders  down, 

Shaping  the  stubborn  iron  to  the  plan, 
Know  that  each  stroke  adds  lustre  to  thy  crown, 

And  yon  wide  span 
Of  gazing  planets  shout — behold  a  MAN  ! 


A  glorious  Man  !  and  thy  renown  shall  be 

Borne  by  the  winds  and  waters  through  all  time, 
While  there's  a  keel  to  carve  it  on  the  sea 

From  clime  to  clime, 
Or  God  ordains  that     Idleness  is  Crime  ! 


Then  passed  the  Vision  ;  and  the  morn  once  more 
Called  up  the  dreaming  smith  from  his  repose  ; 
All  calm  his  heart,  so  turbulent  before  ; 

And  he  arose, 
A  Christian  hero — ready  for  his  foes  ! 


THE 


AIGEL 


WAS  heard,  'tis  said,  one  tranquil  eve, 
A  low,  sad  voice  along  the  sky  ! 

(Alas,  can  heavenly  natures  grieve, 
Can  holy  angels  weep  on  high, 

And  sinless  seraphs  learn  to  sigh  ?) 


There  spread  a  cloud  of  golden  hue 
And  curtained  day's  declining  light ; 

Down  floating  from  the  distant  blue 
It  came  with  strange  mysterious  flight, 

A  summer  cloud  serene  and  bright. 


A  form  upon  celestial  wings  ! 

Wherever  pressed  her  glittering  feet 
Came  gushing  forth  from  hidden  strings 

Soft  music  earth  can  ne'er  repeat, 
Melodious  concords  grandly  sweet  ' 


THE    ANGEL. 

She  paused,  and  on  a  sunbeam  stood, 
Above  a  gently  sloping  hill ; 

Mute  wonder  fell  on  field,  and  wood, 
The  gurgling  brook  and  gleesome  rill ; 

And  e'en  the  warbling  birds  were  still. 


But  that  sad  voice  along  the  sky 
Yet  burdened  all  the  passing  gale : 

Ah  !  do  the  loved  in  heaven  die, 

Doth  hope  in  those  fair  regions  fail? 

Sweet  Angel,  why  that  plaintive  wail ! 


She  gazed  o'er  all  the  haunts  of  men, 
And  saw  how  sorrow's  fountains  flow 

Gay  city,  or  secluded  glen, 

No  refuge  from  the  certain  blow, 

The  cruel  wound,  the  hopeless  wo. 


Amid  the  proud  voluptuous  throng 

Mourned  many  a  breaking  heart  alone, 

Crushed  in  the  grasp  of  want  and  wrong, 

The  sordid  world  all  heedless  grown  ; 

1  Ah,  heartless  earth  !  Ah,  world  of  stone  ! 


THE  ANGEL. 

The  captive  pining  in  his  chain, 
The  famished  vainly  asking  bread  ; 

Sad  partings  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

Love's  rose  that  once  sweet  odors  shed, 

In  youth's  bright  path,  perfumeless,  dead  ! 


0 


O'er  field  and  hill,  by  wave  and  coast, 
A  shout  of  furious  onset  rose, 

The  shock  of  many  a  mighty  host, 
The  struggle  of  defiant  foes 

Met  in  terrific  battle-throes  ! 


How  red  the  rivulets  shall  be  : 

How  weltering  all  the  rural  plain  ; 

To  mingle  there  that  sanguine  sea, 
How  many  a  heart  its  ruddy  rain 

In  that  wild  strife  will  pour — in  vain  ! 


She  saw,  where,  by  the  pallet  side, 

While  orphan  babes  unconscious  slept, 

A  scanty  pittance  to  provide 
The  widow  toilsome  vigil  kept, 

And  in  her  watching  ceaseless  wept. 


THE    ANGEL. 

The  weary  stranger  sought  for  rest, 
(Ah,  who  the  goal  hath  ever  won  ?) 

No  door  was  opened  for  a  guest, 

None  wished  the  pilgrim's  journey  done, 

Nor  made  life's  race  less  sad  to  run  ! 


From  rugged  Labor's  earnest  hand 
Uprose  the  palace,  teemed  the  soil ; 

And  navies  launched  at  his  command, 
For  lordly  Indolence  a  spoil ; 

Ah,  hapless,  unrequited  Toil ! 


How  many  a  generous  bosom  burned, 
With  all  sublime  aspirings  fraught, 

Yet  ever  found  its  fervor  spurned  : 
Rich  with  the  jewelry  of  thought, 

Yet  all  its  worth  accounted  Nought. 


Where  mournful  sighed  a  maniac  maid 
No  lover's  voice  in  music  spoke, 

Confiding  innocence — -betrayed  ! 

Poor  heart,  what  anguish  in  the  stroke 

When  it  could  bear  no  more — and  broke  ! 


THE  ANGEL. 

Where  lay  a  babe  in  death's  cold  sleep 
A  mother  knelt  in  mad  despair  j 

Alas  !  the  slumber  was  too  deep, 
The  spirit  heeded  not  her  prayer  ; 

The  cherub  was  no  longer  there  ! 


With  feeble  hand  deserted  Age 
Was  tracing  in  his  sightless  gloom 

This  one  sad  line  for  that  last  page, 
That  page  of  stone  above  his  tomb  : 

Forsaken  !  O  ye  Dead,  make  room  ! 


Thus  gazing  o'er  the  haunts  of  men, 
She  saw  how  sorrow's  fountains  flow ; 

Gay  city,  or  secluded  glen, 

Still  all  resistless  falls  the  blow, 

The  cruel  wound,  the  hopeless  wo. 


For  this,  upon  that  tranquil  eve, 

Came  that  sad  voice  along  the  sky ; 

For  these  that  heavenly  one  could  grieve  ; 
That  Angel  from  the  realms  on  high, 

With  hastening  wing  came  down  to  sigh. 


WHERE. 

She  wept,  and  on  the  sunbeam  shed 
Celestial  tears,  divinely  blest ; 

Swift  o'er  the  sky  bright  rainbows  spread  ; 
Earth  saw,  and  every  mournful  breast 

With  holy  solace  sank  to  rest. 


But  that  sad  voice  along  the  sky 
Yet  lingers  on  the  passing  gale, 

For  sorrow's  fount  is  never  dry, 

And  still,  where'er  its  streams  prevail 

Sweet  PITY  pours  her  plaintive  wail. 


.  .         WHERE. 

A  GENTLE  youth  would  follow  Hope, 

To  roam  through  pleasure's  fairy  land! 
The  portals  of  delight  to  ope, 

To  feast  the  eye  and  fill  the  hand, 
To  drink  of  fountains  fresh  and  clear, 

And  rest  in  bowers  safe  and  fair, 
But  still  as  oft  as  hope  said — here  ! 

And  bade  him  seize  the  bliss  so  rare, 
The  disappointed  youth  said — Where  ! 


WHERE. 

He  wandered  from  his  native  vale, 

Allured  by  voices  from  afar, 
Soft  breezes  fanned  his  ready  sail, 

And  o'er  the  wave  arose  a  star ; 
He  trusted  then  the  tranquil  sea, 

Some  Paradise  to  seek  and  share, 
But  in  the  fairest  Eden,  he 

O'erworn  with  weariness  and  care, 
Still  sad  and  listless  murmured — Where  ! 


Then,  instant,  as  he  looked  beyond, 

Some  new  temptation  would  arise, 
Some  seeming  angel  fair  and  fond, 

Some  casket  that  contained  the  prize, 
'Twere  but  a  moment's  space  to  reach, 

The  briefest  journey  here  to  there, 
His  arm  could  soon  encompass  each, 

Yet  as  he  grasped  the  empty  air. 
Some  distant  cave  would  echo — Where  ! 


Came  Beauty  dazzling  then  his  eye, 
And  cast  her  spell  around  his  heart, 

E'en  midnight  seemed  a  sunlit  sky, 
Such  glitter  did  her  glance  impart ; 


WHERE. 

He  sprang  enchanted  to  adore, 

To  flutter  in  her  silken  snare  ; 
Alas  !  the  vision  soon  was  o'er  ; 

A  blight — and  all  the  bower  was  bare  ; 
Ami  Beauty's  rose  was  blooming — Where  ? 

Then  heard  he  on  the  air  a  blast, 

A  wildly  sweet  inspiring  strain  ; 
Aloft  a  mournful  laok  he  cast, 

And  there  was  Hope's  bright  form  again  ! 
Before  him  rose  a  rugged  steep, 

Its  summit  bore  a  temple  fair  ; 
Up  !  said  Ambition,  onward  sweep, 

For  fame's  immortal  joys  prepare  ; 
But  still  his  weary  heart  said — Where  ! 

So  tasted  he  life's  choicest  wine, 

Wealth,  honor,  all  they  can  secure  ; 
Yet  did  his  longing  soul  repine, 

They  were  not  lasting,  true,  and  pure  : 
Still  seemed  the  guerdon  far  above 

The  proudest  height  his  foot  could  dare  ; 
Then  came  the  word  of  heavenly  love, 

By  yonder  Cross  go  breathe  a  prayer, 
He  knelt,  and  lo,  his  REST  was  There  ! 


SUE, 


A    TALE    OF    LASTING    LOVE, 


IN  the  days  when  I  was  young, 

Just  a  ripple  on  life's  sea, 
Ere  the  clouds  of  manhood  flung 

Their  dark  shadows  over  me  ; 
When  my  spirit  was  as  light 

As  my  own  Green-mountain  an, 
And  my  hopes  were  all  as  bright 

As  the  sunbeams  shining  there, 
Oh,  how  deeply  then  I  fell — 

Fell  in  love  !  and  so  would  you, 
Had  you  seen  our  valley  belle, 

That  sweet  hyacinth,  my  SUE  ! 


SUE. 

She  was  kind,  but  she  was  coy, 

And  whenever  I  came  near, 
Though  a  harmless,  blushing  boy, 

She  would  shrink  as  if  with  fear  ; 
And  the  lash  of  her  blue  eye 

Would  its  falling  form  display, 
Like  the  fringe  along  the  sky, 

When  the  evening  shuts  the  day : 
Ah,  how  she  bewitched  my  heart ! 

And,  (between  myself  and  you,) 
She  would  sometimes  make  it  smart, 

That  sweet  summer  rose,  my  Sue  ! 


Oh,  how  often  have  I  sat 

All  alone  beside  the  brook, 
And  have  cast  away  my  hat, 

With  a  suicidal  look  ! 
And  I  might  have  plunged  me  in, 

Had  not  something  whispered — nay, 
And  preserved  me  from  that  sin, 

To  be  happy  here  to-day. 
Ah,  this  drowning  is  a  thing 

It  were  impious  to  do, 
As  I've  often  heard  her  sing ; 

That  sweet  nightingale,  my  Sue. 


Jfr* 


SUE. 

And  how  often  have  I  strayed 

With  the  lads  along  the  lea, 
With  many  a  pretty  maid, 

Yet,  ah,  none  of  them  for  me ; 
For  if  she,  whom  I  loved  best, 

In  the  groups  could  not  be  seen, 
No  contentment  in  my  breast, 

No  delight  upon  the  green ; 
But  there  was  a  garden  nigh, 

With  its  bower  just  in  view, 
And  still  sought  my  heart  and  eye, 

That  sweet  lily  there,  my  Sue. 


One  serenest  eventide, 

When  the  toils  of  day  were  o'er, 
She  was  sitting  at  the  side 

Of  her  little  cottage  door: 
Then  I  pressed  my  suit  again 

Like  a  pilgrim  at  a  shrine, 
Oh,  it  was  not  all  in  vain, 

She  consented  to  be  mine  : 
In  a  moment,  with  a  whirl, 

For  the  priest  away  I  flew, 
And  that  gentle,  joyous  girl, 

Was  my  sweet  heart's-ease,  my  Sue  ! 


RETURN". 

And  I  love  her  all  the  more, 

Now  that  she  has  come  to  be 
Like  the  ivy,  twining  o'er 

This  old  gray-grown  turret,  me  ! 
Neither  have  I  one  regret, 

As  I  mark  the  flying  years, 
For  she  clings  the  closer  yet 

As  the  faster  fall  the  tears  ; 
And  she  looks  with  me  above, 

With  a  clear  and  tranquil  view, 
For  an  endless  life  of  love, 

My  sweet  hyacinth,  my  Sue. 


RETURN. 

ALL  welcome  to  my  heart, 

My  own  sweet  bird, 
No  more  shalt  fhou  depart, 

My  first  preferred  ! 
I  bade  through  all  thy  flight, 

Love's  beacon  burn, 
And  called,  the  weary  night. 

Return  !  Return  ! 


RETURN. 

'Twas  gloomy  all  the  day, 

While  thou  wast  flown, 
And  voiceless  things  would  say 

Alone  !  Alone  ! 
When  sad  I  op'd  the  door 

And  gazed  around, 
Where  oftentimes  before, 

I  thee  had  found. 

How  desolate  our  cot, 

The  silent  hearth 
Its  busy  blaze  forgot, 

And  all  its  mirth. 
And  often  did  I  trace 

Our  flowery  walk, 
But  ah,  the  chiefest  grace 

Had  left  its  stalk. 

The  simple  little  flower, 

I  loved  so  well, 
In  some  far  distant  bower 

Was  gone  to  dwell ; 
I  could  not  trace  thy  track, 

But  prayed  a  prayer 
Some  breeze  might  waft  thee  back, 

My  flower,  my  fair  ! 


SHADOW. 

Now  thou  again  art  home, 

My  own  blue  bell, 
My  own  sweet  bird  is  come, 

I  loved  so  well. 
And  long  the  day  shall  be 

Ere  thou  wilt  part, 
To  roam  again  so  free, 

From  my  fond  heart. 


SHADOW. 


FLEETING  vision  !  well-a-day, 

Life's  a  shadow  all  the  way  ! 
If  you  doubt  me,  listen  now, 

Let  me  tell  you  why  and  how. 
Shadow,  infant ;  shadow,  man  ; 

Show  me  substance  if  you  can  J 
Tumor  change  it  as  you  may, 

Life's  a  shadow  all  the  way  ! 


SHADOW. 

Infancy  assumes  a  smile, 

Only  shadow  all  the  while  ; 
While  we  ask  if  it  be  truth, 

Childhood  verges  into  youth  ! 
Youth,  the  time  of  books  and  school, 

Dreadful  shadow,  dreading  fool ! 
Irksome  lessons,  hard  to  say, 

Horrid  shadows  in  the  way. 

Swift  we  come  to  man's  estate  ; 

Would  its  shadow  then  but  wait ! 
But  it  hasteth  on  to  see 

The  meridian  degree, 
O'er  the  dial  of  our  day 

Pass  like  morning  mist  away ; 
All  the  shadow,  all  the  sun 

Gone  before  they  seemed  begun  ! 

Cupid  slyly  aims  his  dart, 

Pierces  through  and  through  the  heart ; 
How  delicious,  yet  how  drear  ! 

What  strange  frenzy  lurking  here  ; 
Cannot  come,  nor  stay,  nor  go, 

Some  dear  shadow  haunting  so  ! 
Stern  as  winter,  mild  as  May, 

Neither  scared  nor  coaxed  away. 


SHADOW. 

Shadow  oft  the  wedded  life  ; 

Every  boy  must  have  a  wife  : 
Every  maiden  will  be  wed, 

Eager  heart  and  simple  head, 
Sure  of  happiness  complete  ; 

What  a  shadow  !  what  deceit ! 
When  the  nuptial  link  is  tied, 

Shadow  husband  !  shadow  bride  ! 

Folly  urges,  fashion  drives, 

Mortals  all  their  mortal  lives  ; 
E'er  so  gay,  or  e'er  so  grand, 

Shadow,  and  a  rope  of  sand  ! 
Unsubstantial  at  the  best, 

Cannot  bear  affliction's  test ; 
Turn  or  change  it  as  we  may, 

Life's  a  shadow  all  the  way  ! 

Yet,  be  happy,  Age  and  Youth, 

Ye  have  still  the  Word  of  Truth  : 
No  delusive  shadow  here, 

Firm,  consoling,  and  sincere. 
If  you  doubt  me,  listen  now, 

Let  me  tell  you  why  and  how. 
It  was  spoken  from  above, 

Word  of  Truth,  and  Life,  and  Love, 


O'ER  THE  HILL. 


ONE  morning  as  he  wended 

Through  a  path  bedight  with  flowers, 
Where  all  delights  were  blended 

To  beguile  the  fleeting  hours, 
Sweet  Youth,  pray  turn  thee  hither, 

Said  a  voice  along  the  way, 
Ere  all  these  roses  wither, 

And  these  fair  fruits  decay, 
But  the  youth  paused  not  to  ponder 

If  the  voice  were  good  or  ill, 
For,  said  he,  my  home  is  yonder, 

O'er  the  hill  there,  o'er  the  Hill ! 


O'ER    THE    HILL 

Again,  high  noon  was  glowing 

On  a  wide  and  weary  plain, 
And  there,  right  onward  going, 

Was  the  traveller  again  : 
He  seemed  another  being 

Than  the  morning's  rosy  youth, 
But  I  quickly  knew  him,  seeing 

His  unaltered  brow  of  truth  : 
Rest,  stranger,  rest  till  even', 

Sang  alluring  voices  still  ; 
But  he  cried — my  rest  is  heaven  ! 

O'er  the  hill  there,  o'er  the  Hill ! 


The  shades  of  night  were  creeping 

A  sequestered  valley  o'er, 
Where  a  dark,  deep  stream  was  sweeping 

By  a  dim  and  silent  shore  ; 
And  there  the  pilgrim,  bending 

With  the  burthen  of  the  day, 
Was  seen  still  onward  wending, 

Through  a  "  straight  and  narrow  way  :" 
He  passed  the  gloomy  river 

As  it  were  a  gentle  rill, 
And  rested, — home  forever  ! 

O'er  the  hill  there,  o'er  the  Hill ! 


BIBLE. 


BIBLE  ! — Blessed  Bible  ! 

Treasure  of  the  heart  ! 
What  sweet  consolation 

Doth  thy  page  impart ; 
In  the  fiercest  trial, 

In  the  deepest  grief, 
Strength,  and  hope,  and  comfort 

In  each  holy  leaf. 
Bible, — let  me  clasp  thee, 

Anchor  of  the  soul ! 
When  the  storm  is  raging, 

When  the  waters  roll, 
When  the  frowning  heavens 

Darken  every  star, 
And  no  hopeful  beacon 

Glimmereth  afar, 


BIBLE. 

Be  my  refuge,  Bible  ! 

Then  be  thou  my  stay, 
Guide  me  on  life's  billow, 

Light  the  dreary  way, 
Tell  me  of  the  morrow, 

When  a  sun  shall  rise, 
That  shall  glow  forever, 

In  unclouded  skies, 
Tell  me  of  that  heaven 

In  the  climes  above, 
Where  the  bark  rides  safely 

In  a  sea  of  love. 

Bible  ! — let  me  clasp  thee  ' 

Chronicle  divine, 
Of  a  world's  redemption, 

Of  a  Saviour,  mine  ! 
Wisdom  for  the  simple, 

Riches  for  the  poor, 
Hope  for  the  desponding, 

For  the  sick,  a  cure. 
Rest  for  all  the  weary, 

Ransom  for  the  slave, 
Courage  for  the  fearful, 

Life  beyond  the  grave  ! 


PERIL. 

Bible  !— Blessed  Bible  ! 

Treasure  of  the  heart, 
What  sweet  consolation 

Doth  thy  page  impart ; — 
In  the  fiercest  trial, 

In  the  deepest  grief, 
Strength,  and  hope,  and  comfort, 

In  each  holy  leaf. 


PERIL. 

HITHER  reckless  ranger, 

Love's  sweet  landscape  o'er, 

Hither  ! — there  is  danger 
All  thy  steps  before  ; 

Wander  thou  no  more  ! 


Hast  thou  roamed  it  over 
Many  pleasant  days  ; 

Ah,  delighted  rover, 
Passion  still  betrays  ; 

Fatal  all  her  ways  ! 


PERIL. 

Sweetly  still  alluring, 
She  may  lead  thee  where 

Bliss  appears  enduring 
And  the  skies  look  fair  ; 

But  beware — beware  ! 


In  the  rosy  bower 
Oft  is  heard  a  sigh  ; 

Fragrant  though  the  flower, 
Tempting  to  the  eye, 

Thorns  are  lurking  nigh  ! 


'Tis  a  bright  illusion, 

Where  thy  feet  have  been ; 
Pleasures  in  profusion 

Lend  a  passing  sheen  ; 
Changed,  how  soon  the  scene  ' 


Look  !  and  be  admonished, 
In  thy  thoughtless  mirth  ; 

E'er  thou  find,  astonished, 
All  the  smiles  of  earth 

False  and  nothing  worth. 


PERIL. 

On  ^on  mountain  nourished, 
Rooted  on  its  brow, 

Once  a  tall  oak  flourished, 
Oak  of  spreading  bough, 

Ah,  behold  it  now  ! 


Yesterday  it  towered 
To  the  smiling  skies  ! 

Prostrate  and  o'erpowered 
Now  how  low  it  lies, 

Never  more  to  rise  ! 


Every  breeze  of  heaven  •* 
Met  it  with  a  kiss  ; 

Tender  vows  were  given, 
Ah,  heart-breaking  bliss, 

They  were  all  for  this  ! 


Loving  words,  oft-spoken 
Zephyrs  told  that  tree 

Oft  its  leafy  token 
Bore  they  over  sea, 

Faithless  yet  to  be  ! 


PERIL. 

In  the  midnight  hour, 

Furious  and  fast, 
Came  they  with  the  power 

Of  the  Autumn  blast, 
Reft  the  Oak  at  last  ! 


Shattered  now  and  dying 
See  how  they  deride  ; 

All  its  glories  flying 
On  the  gusty  tide  ; 

Gone  the  mountain's  pride 


So,  earth's  friendships  blended 

Seem  a  fragile  shell, 
In  a  moment  rended, 

Guard  it  ne'er  so  well, 
Mournful  truth  to  tell ! 


Pilgrim  through  life's  sorrow, 
Hope's  deluded  Dove, 

Wouldst  thou  find  to-morrow 
Pure  enduring  love, 

Speed  thy  wing  above  ! 


THE  LAST  VENDUE, 


A  SKETCH  OF   THE  PASSING  TIMES. 


As  I  was  on  a  journey  late,  a  mental  one 
I  mean, 

Around  this  mighty  world  of  ours,  I  came 
upon  a  scene 

Was  so  astonishing  to  see,  so  comic,  grave, 
and  grand, 

I  took  my  note,  book  out  with  haste  and 
clambered  to  a  stand 

Upon  a  heap  of  broken  wares,  a  motley 
pile  of  things, 

That  seemed  they  might  have  once  belong 
ed  to  some  old  race  of  kings  ; 

And  heaps  on  heaps  were  strewn  about,  as 

far  as  eye  could  scan, 
Around    the    fields,    along    the    streams, 

where  e'er  the  vision  ran  ; 


LAST    VENDTJE. 

«rj 

As  if  some  ruthless  creditor  had  levied  on 

the  world, 
And  kingdoms,  thrones,  and  diadems,  were 

all  to  ruin  hurled  ; 
Ill-gotten  chatties  of  the  powers  that  were 

compelled  To  "  fail," 
And  were  all  brought  together  there  for  one 

stupendous  sale! 

% 

Stood  side  by  side  the  vassal-born,  and 

they  of  proudest  birth  ; 
No  more  a  slave,  no  more  a  lord,  in  all 

Republic  earth. 
Yet   smiled  the    skies   approvingly,  and, 

every  landscape  round, 
Rich  harvests  waited  but  a  word,  to  burst 

the  teeming  ground  ; 
Betokening  a  coming  hour,  when,  war's  red 

banner  furled, 
Abundance,  and   content  would  bless    a 

liberated  world. 

. 
What  may  it  mean,  quoth  I  to  one,  this 

great  grotesque  array, 
As  though  the  peasant  and  the  prince  were 

made  of  kindred  clay  ; 
Methinks  I  see  all  equal  here,  the  humble 

and  the  proud  ; 
Now  what  hath  moved  these  haughty  heads 

to  mingle  with  the  crowd  ? 


LAST    VEKDUE. 

And  whence  this  huge  chaotic  mass,  here 

piled  on  every  hand  ; 
Magnificence  and  meanness  strewn,  like 

wrecks  along  a  strand, 
As,  when  some  direful  storm  hath  swept 

the  surging  ocean  o'er, 
Fleet,  argosy,  and  tiny  bark  with  ruins  line 

the  shore. 

Then  lifted  he  to  whom  I  spake  a  fixed  and 
frowning  eye, 

As  to  rebuke  such  questioning,  yet  deign 
ing  no  reply ; 

For,  by  the  tokens  at  his  feet,  a  crown  and 
broken  mace, 

Behold,  I  was  in  audience  with  one  of 
royal  race  ! 

Poor  wanderer!  I  pitying  said,  and  prayed 
for  him  a  prayer, 

But  quick  he  vanished  in  the  throngs  and 
meful  tumults  there. 


Oh,  ye  ancestral  kingly  shades,  the  Cym- 

bri,  Saxon,  Gaul, 
Mourn  for  the  towering  thrones  you  reared 

to  crush  your  race, — and  fall ! 
Mourn  for  the  Mighty  Arm  that  smote  your 

majesty,  and  threw 
Your  idle  splendor  to  the  winds  at  that 

a u oust  Vendue  ! 


LAST    VENDUE. 


A  venerable  patriarch  arose  as  Auction 
eer, 

Arid,  though  so  aged,  still  his  voice  could 
make  all  nations  hear. 

'Tis  said  he  is  the  veteran  that  first  began 
his  trade 

When  sang  the  morning  stars  for  joy,  and 
this  great  globe  was  made  ; 

And  one  could  never  doubt  at  all,  he  seem 
ed  so  hale  and  well, 

That  he  will  live  as  long  as  there  is  aught 
on  earth  to  sell ! 


Upon  the  concourse  as  he  looked,  'twas 

saddening  to  view  • 
What  wondrous  work  the  withering  glance 

of  his  keen  eye  could  do. 
A    countless  crowd  was   gathered   there 

when  his  great  sale  began, 
Yet  every  soul  was  made  to  feel  the  look 

of  that  old  man  ; 
How  did  he  cause  all  knees  to  smite,  all 

vigor  to  decay, 
Turning  to  ashy  hue  the  cheek,  the  glossy 

locks  to  grey  ! 
The  great  of  earth  in  vain  combine  against 

his  potent  will  ; 
They  build  their  temples  and  their  towers, 

but  he  destroys  them  still. 
The  very  universe  'tis  said,  by  some  old 

sacred  seer, 


LAST    VENDUE. 


At  last  shall  smoke  beneath  his  touch,  dis 
solve,  and  disappear  ! 

But  his  is  not  the  hand  supreme  ;  a  Migh 
tier  than  he 

Controls  his  devastating  arm  by  infinite 
decree  ; 

And  when  his  work  shall  be  fulfilled,  his 
sway  will  all  be  o'er, 

The  heavens  and  earth  shall  pass  away — 
and  he  shall  be  no  more  ! 

Ah  me,  he  is  a  dread  old  man  !  and  there 
he  stood  and  sold 

The  wrecks  of  empires  with  a  heart  ma 
levolently  cold  ; 

Yet  oft  he  gave  a  sigh  or  smile  that  still 
that  word  redeems, 

To  see  beneath  his  hammer  fall  such  sad 
and  strange  extremes. 

Upon  the  shattered -parapet  of  some  old 
tower  he  sprang, 

And, planting  his  red  signal  there,  his  thun 
dering  call  outrang : 

Ye  multitudes  give  ear  to  me,  this  mer 
chandise  survey  ; 

What  bargains  these  for  king  and  clown, 
what  fortunes  here  to-day  ! 

Oppression  is  all  bankrupt  now,  and  des 
pot  sway  is  done, 

For  in  the  chancery  above,  lo,  freedom's 
plea  hath  won  ; 


LAST   VENDUE. 

The  famished  world  has  payment  claimed 
of  its  most  rightful  debt, 

And  sheriff  Re  volution  hence  has  palaces 
— "  To  Let !" 

All  idle  pomp,  all  princely  state,  all  signs 
of  royal  rule 

Are  going,  going,  now !  for  man  has  spurn 
ed  the  kingly  school ; 

And  the  stem  lessons  he  has  learned 
through  many  a  weary  page, 

Matured  to  mighty  deeds,  have  oped  a 
grand  Fraternal  Age  ! 

A  tarnished  bauble  in  his  hand  then  lifted 

he  on  high, 
And  cried,  Ye  crownless  potentates,  ye 

powerless  princes  buy! 
'Tis  somewhat  faded,  it  is  true,  but  still 

it  is  a  crown, 
I'll  throw  the  iron  sceptre  in — 'tis  going, 

going — down  ! 
And  here,  the  remnant  of  a  Throne — Ye 

sovereigns  of  the  soil, 
Buy  now  the  monster  that  devoured  the 

products  of  your  toil ! 
Once  it  was  bright  with  burnished  gold, 

with  quaint  devices  graced, 
But  long  the  lustre  has  been  dimmed,  each 

emblem  long  defaced  ; 
See  Justice  bearing  broken  scales  ;  Honor 

and  Truth  seem  dead, 


LAST  VENDUE. 

Power  has  lost  his  thunderbolts  ;  Mercy 

and  Hope  have  tied  ! 
How  much  the  antiquated  Throne  !  who'll 

buy  the  regal  seat ; 
What  bliss  to  sit  there  and   suppose  an 

empire  at  your  feet. 
Ah  !  could  they  speak,  whose  once  it  was 

august  thereon  to  reign, 
What  desperate  battle  would  they  bid  for 

this  old  Might  again. 
I  cannot  dwell,  it  must  be  sold,  who  makes 

it  now  his  own  ? 
Once,  twice,  the  last,  'tis  going,  gone  ! — 

here,  serf,  ascend  your  throne  ! 

Then  at  his  hand  a  massive  coil  of  pon 
derous  chains  I  saw  ; 
A  sign  that  men  would  nevermore  the  car 

of  bondage  draw. 
Here,  here !     again  cried  he   aloud,    ye 

kingdoms  in  decay, 
Buy  now  a  girdle  for  your  realms,  and 

hold  them  to  your  sway. 
What  hopeless  thraldom  for  a  world  might 

these  strong  bands  secure  ; 
So  potent  to  subdue  the  great,  and  crush 

the  rebel  poor. 
Ye  Caesars  listen  ere  too  late,  for  soon  shall 

all  men  hear 
The   final  word  to  sell  these  chains    to 

some  brave  buyer  here. 


LAST    VENDUE. 


Is  there  no  Alexander  now  would  grasp 
the  globe  again, 

Ere  my  reluctant  arm  descend,  and  you 
lament  in  vain  ? 

All  going — going  ! — At  the  word  the  list 
less  throng  awoke, 

And  down  irrevocably  came  the  long  im 
pending  stroke  ! 

But  lo,  the  old  corroded  links,  drawn 
clanking  up  to  sight, 

Fell  piecemeal  at  the  blow  to  earth — no 
more  to  re-unite  ! 

Then  burst  one  thundering  peal  of  joy  from 
all  the  gathered  host, 

Till  mountain  shouted  to  the  sea,  and  coast 
replied  to  coast ! 

The  wo-worn  earth,  so  hopeful  long,  for 
that  ecstatic  time, 

Put  on  again  her  eden  robes  in  every  hap 
py  clime, 

And  down  the  sky  a  glorious  Zone  the  na 
tions  saw  descend, 

Expanding  o'er  remotest  hills,  where  hu 
man  homes  extend, 

Till  firm,  within  its  glittering  verge  it  shut 
the  world's  wide  span, 

And  bound,  by  lasting  CHRISTIAN  LOVE, 
the  heart  of  man  to  man. 


• 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Form  L-9 
aom-l,'4X1122> 


A  A   """" Ml"  "»i  in//  mil  mil  I 


PS 

2039 
H87s 
1851 


